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ghost-proofbaby · 6 months

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SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FIVE: HOLY GROUND

I LEFT A NOTE ON THE DOOR WITH THE JOKE WE MADE, AND THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY. AND DARLING, IT WAS GOOD NEVER LOOKING DOWN.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 8K+

☆ A/N: trying something new in the formating here amongst the chapter - please bear with me <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Oh, how you realize you’ll come to regret that taunt.

The first week of working on organizing Corroded Coffin’s single release party is easy enough. Most of the communication is restricted to Matt and vendors, beginning the process of assessing venues as you start your list of all that will be needed for the party. An actual location, an open bar, entire stage crews. Matt is able to provide a few connections here and there, people in the live music industry that owe him a favor as he had so kindly put it. You had your spreadsheet of contacts that was growing with each passing day, you had several venues that looked as though they would work well for the occasion — the only thing you had yet to do was go over options with the band or properly reach out for their list of requirements for their night of celebration.

You had tried to be sneaky about it. Get around asking for any of their emails, continue living comfortably in the radio silence of not hearing from Eddie. And then you’d made the fatal mistake of asking Matt if he could gather the list of things the boys may want.

And of course, as any sane person would do, he had only forwarded the email to all of the boys’ professional emails and replied: I’ve CC’d our rockstars. I’ve instructed them to personally send you any requests they may have.

Fuck.

Eddie’s email sat at the lead of the list of CC’d emails, almost teasing you as it stared back at you from your laptop screen. A full week, you had avoided this. Even if he could have gotten your email from Matt, he hadn’t, and like a fool, you’d assumed that meant you were in the clear.

So much for that.

You compose and erase multiple emails until you decide that if the boys want to reach out, they can. There was no need for you to make first contact; they now had your email, a bait set for them to initiate a conversation by sending you their lists. If Eddie wanted to reach out to you, he had the perfect excuse to do so.

For a few hours, you don’t hear anything, and instead of sighing in relief, it only puts you further on edge. You want him to just get it over with. To send you an email, preferably an impersonal list that allows you to continue your job. No relations, no interferences. You didn’t know it, but the Universe was already laughing in your face.

The first email from any of the boys comes from Jeff.

A simple list, just as you’d requested. There was nothing outrageous; he’d recommended an open bar, asked for a specific brand of whiskey if possible, and thanked you for all you were doing. Simple, kind, appreciative. Jeff, it seemed, had stayed as humble as you remembered him.

The next email came from Gareth. Less simple, but still just as expected.

Nerds (the CANDY) of any kind. That vodka infused whipped cream (does it even get you drunk?), the softest robe money can buy. Actually, can I get matching house shoes with that robe? Can we also have some cigars in the dressing room? (We are getting a dressing room… right?)

You’re so busy snorting at his requests, rolling your eyes but also losing yourself in the warmth to know he also hadn’t changed much, you don’t see the next email come through.

It was comforting. You knew Eddie had changed — more than you could ever wrap your head around — but these boys you once knew seemed to still be connected to their roots. You read the requests and recall the times you’d spent in Gareth’s hot garage over the summer, sitting on warm concrete as you cheered overly excited, even occasionally standing up to jokingly mosh to their rehearsals. Sweltering summer nights between friends and beers that lost their chill far too quickly, laughter that echoed down the driveway and out into the empty streets of Hawkins. Nostalgia burns away at you, sitting restlessly in your chest as you let yourself simmer in it for the first time since…. since moving to New York, really. Even in that first year, life had moved so quickly, you and Eddie never took the time to ruminate in your past too often. If you did, it had caught you off guard, always fleeting to make room for the next uncertain experience.

You two had been so busy running away from your hometown, you’d never stopped to consider what you had given up in the process.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, and you swear you can still taste the shitty Miller Lite, the only brand that seemed to occupy the Emerson’s fridge, on your tongue as you exit the email and scribble on the notepad before you. Even if Gareth had been joking around with some of his requests, you’d take them seriously — besides, the mental image of Gareth in a plush robe and fluffy slippers to match made you laugh. You were thinking about your past, and for once, you were laughing. This part wasn’t a stain, wasn’t something you had scrubbed away at in a haste to make it fade from your ledger. This was the part you should have been lingering on.

And linger you did until you glanced up to find the next unread email.

Eddie.

[email protected]. You could fool yourself, tell yourself that email is from anyone else, but you know it isn’t. It isn’t even the email that had been CC’d. It’s his personal email.

Your mouse hovers over the highlighted and unopened message, heart dropping with each passing second. There’s a small preview of his message, but your vision blurs just enough that you can’t make out the small words.

Is this how you were always doomed to live out the rest of your days? To freeze, to panic, to malfunction at every slightest thing that has to do with the man you left to begin with? Would he always pull such visceral reactions from you?

In an act of bravery, you press the tip of your finger against the smooth mouse pad, a muted click that doesn’t reach your ears signaling the official opening of the email. All of your hopes are shattered as you realize it’s clearly too short to be a list similar to the other boys, a simple response that you could acknowledge and move on from.

No, he sends something that specifically calls for you to play with him. To reply and interact, to give him what he wants. To talk.

Two fucking words. Two loaded, vexing, provocative words that call to you with the titillating grin you imagine he wore as he typed them.

Your fingers work faster than your brain, slamming away at the keys hurriedly without thought as you type your least professional email to date.

The bottom of the email is automatically signed off with your work signature, including your direct personal line. If you had half the mind, you would have erased that bit of information to keep it from Eddie. It even has your actual signature, a mature one that differs from how you used to scrawl your name atop of schoolwork in high school, that you had scanned into your computer after having gone through the painful process of rewriting it what must have been a thousand times. No one had let you in on the fact that most other corporate monsters and coworkers just used one of the sloping fonts available to them. No one had shown you the ropes – you’d just assumed that it was the normal, to go so above and beyond.

Another brick in the foundation you’d built for yourself, separate from Eddie. Another attempt to change from the girl he’d once loved.

You’re shocked when a reply comes very quickly. You hadn’t even clicked out of the thread before it entered your inbox.

You try to channel fury, years of irritation and calluses you’d built up against him. But your chest has been weakened by that brief moment of nostalgia that Jeff and Gareth had triggered, and it’s a fruitless battle when he sends another message rapidly. He’s treating it like casual texting rather than stiff business interactions.

Your entire body flushes, a shock to your system coming that brings you out of the allusive hypnosis easily.

My emails are monitored. They’re going to see that we know each other. I’m going to get fucking fired.

You steady your breathing and try to stave off the anxiety. It’ll be fine; Lydia has no reason to comb through your emails at this time. Nothing said would trigger any bells or whistles to cause concern. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It has to be.

You wish you had it in you to see red. He had an incomprehensible amount of nerve to be asking for your personal email all because he refused to use his professional email.

Soft. You’d worked on becoming a hardened version of your old self for two years, and all hard work was quickly going down the drain as you remained too soft for him. It was easy, too. All the rough edges had melted so discreetly somewhere amongst the in between.

You think he’s dropped the topic of your personal email, but you should know better. Not even mere seconds after you receive the first email, brimming with nonchalance and a teasing tone that has no room between the two of you, another message comes through.

Good to see he’s still annoying and persistent as ever, I suppose.

He’s all bark, no bite. That’s what you convince yourself. There’s no way he could find your personal email, a plethora of power and connections at his fingertips or not. Even if he could, it would take him ages and more effort than it would be worth.

All bark. No bite.

You hadn’t realized just how quick and consistent his replies had maintained until you’re met with silence. You wait impatiently, biting at your fingernails as you await for another one of his responses. The more the time passes, the excessive minutes piling up in the quiet midday hum of your midtown apartment, the more noticeable Eddie’s online silence becomes.

No, you think suddenly and strongly. No, I am not doing this.

You refuse to sit around like this and succumb so easily. All your half-healed scars thrum with aches deep-rooted within the skin you’ve grown over the last two years, screaming out in phantom pains with a reminder of what happened to you the last time you’d let yourself sit around and wait on the boy on the end of the line. Every lonely night, every tear shed, every beat of your bleeding heart — you cannot be doing this again, and not so soon.

Quickly, you click out of your email tab and back onto the list of vendors you needed to contact for the bar commodities. Distract, distract, distract. You comb through your list. Some vendors seemed to hold more potential than others, more attainable in the grand scheme of it all. For the first time ever in your very short career of event planning, budget wasn’t the issue.

Eddie’s reputation was.

But you’re not thinking about Eddie. No, your focus was anywhere but him right now. You weren’t thinking about him, or his new cologne, or his new rings, or his new life-

Just as you pick up your cell phone to start your calls down the list, a notification pings.

Only seven minutes had passed. Seven minutes, and your phone is suddenly alight with a small but terrifying notification from your personal email.

New email from [email protected]!

Oh, fuck.

Your thumb hesitates over the tiny banner before you release the breath you were sure you’d been holding the entire seven minutes. It shouldn’t have taken him such little time. You expected it to realistically take him a few hours, all your anxious waiting aside.

There had been only one fatal flaw in your taunting — well, technically there were several becoming more apparent as the seconds ticked by, but only one so glaringly obvious. Your personal email address. You had forgotten.

You hadn’t changed it since high school, since moving to New York, since meeting and since leaving Eddie.

[email protected].

The stupid inside joke haunts you.

“Why does your email even matter?” Eddie huffed from where he was sprawled out on your bed, tossing around some bouncy ball he’d acquired a few nights before during dinner at a local pizza joint, “No one even uses email anymore.”

He tossed the ball of rubber into the air once more, a blur of the rainbow swirl pattern whirring too close to your ceiling for comfort. Your focus waned from your laptop for just a moment as you suddenly shot out a hand, attempting to intercept the ball.

No use. Eddie used one hand to swat yours away, the other happily capturing the toy in his palm with a muted thud.

“Nuh, uh, uh,” he drawled as he looked at you with his boyish grin, eyes sparkling as his fingers closed loosely around his prize, “If you wanted one so badly the other night, you should have also coughed up a quarter.”

You snorted, “Are you really proud of that? You spent a whole twenty five cents on a hunk of rubber, Rockstar.”

“A hunk of rubber you’re now trying to steal from me.”

“I’m not trying to steal it,” you scowled, “I’m trying to focus here. Emails are important, despite your pessimism. Something my English teacher said about professionalism.”

“You’re really going to listen to that dinosaur? The old O’Donnel-saurus?” Eddie mused, chuckling beneath his breath at his own joke.

You refused to crack a smile in return, or show any recognition at the awful joke, but your chest still warmed. The smoke of your affection for the boy in front of you unfurled, thick enough to choke you up a few extra seconds but thin enough to not suffocate. Never suffocate — it was a time in which you could never imagine your love for Eddie Munson being your downfall. It was a wispy and adaptable type of adoration, just like the smoke that flows off of the end of the incense you’d taken to burning in your room lately in lieu of candles.

“It’d do you well to also come up with a professional sounding email, you know,” you hummed. You were mere seconds away from shoving your laptop away and joining Eddie in his relaxed position, maybe even laying your head on his chest or shoulder and bringing up the idea of a late afternoon nap you knew he’d never turn down, “Can’t go around emailing important people when you’re a rockstar with your Dungeons & Dragons nickname.”

“One,” he held up a stern finger, “Like I said — I don’t use email. And two, I’m very happy with my email, sweetheart. I’ll probably email the damn President with that name. Life’s too short and we’re too young to get a stick up our ass about shit like that.”

You reached out and wrapped your palm around his finger, tugging it down. Unlike with the ball, he let you capture him in your grasp, “I don’t have a stick up my ass about it.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then make it something funny,” he wiggled his brows, “Make your email something stupid and live a little.”

“A little?” you scoffed, “I think I live plenty for the both of us. You’ve put me through at least three lifetimes worth of stress before I’ve hit twenty. I probably have grey hairs already.”

Your hand curled around his pointer finger drops to your thigh, but doesn’t release him. The touch remained, ever constant, now more for comfort rather than defiance. And he let you continue to hold him, as if your touch was a luxury he was indulging in just as much as you were his.

“Wanna check?” he taunted. He lifted up off his back for a microsecond, tugging your arm with his before the roll of your eyes had him falling back flat once more.

It was a losing battle, arguing with Eddie.

Your conjoined hands settled back atop your thigh as you sighed. Maybe Eddie had been right, and you were stressing out too much about this. He was right; you were young, and having a dumb email was a right of passage. Something to giggle at in your maturity when you’d provide it later down the road, a flash of your youth to keep close.

Fuck professionalism, or whatever high horse O’Donnel had been on.

“Fine,” you huffed, “What do you suggest?”

“… To check for grey hairs?”

“For my email, you idiot.”

A bit more back and forth, a bit too raunchy of ideas that passed Eddie’s lips only to be rejected quickly with rough shakes of your head. His finger remained locked in your palm, at some point his knuckle wiggling between suggestions to stroke at your skin.

“Sweetheart, you’re being too picky,” Eddie finally whined as you shot down yet another one of his ideas, “At this point, just make it something related to the band. You’ll probably be Corroded Coffin’s manager when we make it big, anyways.”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” you murmured, even if you enjoyed the thought. You already had started to get a hang of wrangling the boys in your small town for menial tasks and day-to-day activities. But on a wider, professional scale? You could already feel the headache pressing into your temples. If they ever offered you the proposition, you wouldn’t have said no, but you certainly would have complained to no end. And definitely got grey hairs.

“Sweetheart.”

The repetition of the nickname froze you. Your eyebrows furrowed as the wheels in your brain turned and you looked down at your boy, the formulation of an idea that was combining both of Eddie’s suggestions suddenly.

“Why do you call me sweetheart?”

Eddie was taken back by your question, face crumpling with confusion, “What?”

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” you repeated yourself as you finally let go of his finger and twisted to face him fully, laptop momentarily forgotten as your legs folded beneath you and pressed into your worn mattress, “Like, I call you Rockstar because I know you’ll be a rockstar someday. Already are technically, to me, but don’t let that go to your head,” you explained, smiling shyly as Eddie narrowed his eyes and shined his dimples at you, “So why do you call me sweetheart?”

He hardly had to think about it, although his answer came out as more of a question, “Because you’re my sweetheart?”

“That’s all?”

“Is this a trick question?”

You nearly cackled at his hesitation, “It isn’t, I swear. Just… humor me.”

This time, he took his time to carefully deliberate his answer, “Well, I guess because it just fits,” he paused, wide eyes catching yours as you lifted your brows in question, “You know? Cause you’re sweet like sugar, and you’ve got a heart of gold,” he grabbed up the hand that once held him and drew it into his lips, peppering kisses across your knuckles and fingertips, fighting a grin as he groveled, “There. Is that romantic enough to humor you?”

“Almost.”

You pulled your hand away despite the fact that you wanted to let him continue his display of affection. You would have laid around all day, letting Eddie Munson shower you in all the affection he had to give. But you really needed to create this email.

And now, you had the perfect name.

CORRODEDSUGAR.

You created the account quickly. Set everything up with ease before you proudly turned your screen to Eddie.

“Corroded sugar?” he read outloud in a murmur as a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, “Cute. But also, very metal. Very badass. I approve, Sugar.”

A new nickname was born that day, to haunt you and taunt you at every corner. In soft mornings when he woke before you, his voice softly cooing ‘wake up, Sugar’ as he’d brush his nose along your jaw and attempt to awaken you with needy nuzzling. Amidst heated and passionate arguments had all in good fun while out with friends, where he knew you were right but the closest he’d come to admitting it would simply be ‘whatever you say, Sugar!’. He’d even once weaponized it against you during sacred moments, where his lips worshiped you as they trailed leisurely down the skin of your torso until he’d settled between your thighs, humming as he wrapped ringed fingers around your hips and whispered nothing more than the nickname. ‘Sugar’. He had sighed as if he were a starving man, and you were the plate of sweetness that would bring him back to life.

Sugar. A prayer, a promise, a reminder.

You couldn’t remember the last time he’d called you that. Until now.

When you’d tried to reset, rebuild, remake yourself, it had been hard to figure out a new email address. Amongst all the changes and all the decisions to be made, choosing a new email just felt overwhelming. And you’d been foolish, clung to one last relic of your past like an estranged child fisting a blanket to sleep.

The seven minutes suddenly makes crystal clear sense.

Whether it had really been Eddie’s rockstar connections from his fame, or simply recalling a far away memory, you hadn’t made yourself a very hard person to find. And you never considered that your laziness would have a consequence like this.

You don’t know what else to say. Your mind keeps reading over that silly five letter word, the bold lettering jumping off the page at you. All recollections of every time he’d ever called you that slip into the forefront of your brain, slapping away any concentrated thought.

You’d had dreams of him calling you that again. A mixture of memories and fantasies that would wake you up in the months following your departure. Compared to the other dreams you’d had amongst those, they had been a sweet reprieve. Not a nightmare of Eddie with his lips pressed to another, or mournful dreams where you reached out to him only for him to become intangible smoke where your hand should have connected with his torso. They were one of your only dreams you had awoken from without immediate tears.

They were the type of dreams where you’d awake, and for just a moment, you’d forgotten all that had happened. They’d twist you up in a blissful blanket of delusion that he was still yours, that you were still laying in a shared bed in that small apartment, that there was still a calendar on the wall with the date of his return marked with a scarlet heart.

The tears would come later. Once the dreamy fog cleared, and your eyes opened up to see the unfamiliar space you had taken to calling home instead.

The two of you should be discussing the release party. He should be handing over a list of requests and you should be adding them to the same page that you’d copied down Gareth’s.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

Talking, like nothing happened. Having a playful conversation over email that reeked of the same make-believe that had clung to your dreams of Sugar.

He won’t break the illusion, so you do.

Messaging him from this contact only reminds you of all that could have been. All the joking conversations back in Hawkins of your involvement with the band once they inevitably blew up, all the late nights where you’d been privy to a private show as he hunched over his guitar and hummed out melodies to new songs, all the bruises those once familiar hands had left and then caressed in the afterglow.

For just a moment, you miss it all.

For only a second, you wish he wore the same cologne and you wish you still signed your name as you had when you first met him. You wish for days of instability and the solid touch of his shoulders beneath your palms as you convince him to take a leap of faith on himself and the band. Dancing in a small apartment, falling asleep on the phone while he was a world away, quiet confessions of love to soothe the wound that distance made grow larger — for just a moment, you want it all back. Even the pain. Even the hurt you’d been burying alive for years.

Silence. Once again, he’s left you with static lines as the minutes pass and no new message is received.

You think you liked it better when he was being inappropriately playful.

At least then, he was saying something. Now, as he says nothing, you have to resort back to doing your job. You bring up a knee to rest your chin on as you adjust in your home office chair, clicking over to tabs of information on a physically small but well-known venue that had several different capacity options. Ranging from a small room that could hardly fit twenty five people to a rooftop set up with the ability to entertain several hundred people. Something about it had felt very Eddie to you; reclusive, with opportunity for an afterparty. Some odd mixture of who you once knew and who you’d seen flashes of through headlines and brief encounters. You hadn’t been given many guidelines from Matt to go off of, and when you’d questioned capacity size, he’d only brushed it off.

Just something smaller than the venues they play on tour.

Would Eddie even want this small of a venue? Looking over the venue’s website, you catch sight of the approximate occupancy limit for the “largest” stage room — 750 standing. What was Corroded Coffin’s new normal? Once upon a time, you were amongst a crowd that couldn’t even break double digits. But now, a show like this might sell out for them in five minutes flat. Hell, they could probably even sell out a thousand person capacity room.

A ding sounds to signify a new email.

For a second, you’re nonsensically relieved when you see it’s from Eddie. You find yourself blindly hopeful for a continuation of banter, another message solely trying to get on your nerves – something to satiate that stubborn need to slip back into old habits, even if for only just today.

It’s not. It’s a stale list of requests. Sent to your work email, this time.

No sight of his playfulness between the words. No beckoning of him taunting you, teasing you, whispering for you to just give in and play pretend with him one last time.

It’s probably for the best.

—

Have Mondays always been this hectic?

Week two of working on Corroded Coffin’s album release was starting off very differently from the first week. It seemed every corner you turned, you were faced with a new challenge that only made the headache behind your temples pound more relentlessly. Denial from venues, cold calls being forwarded to voicemail when you’d reach out to vendors, and Matt being impossibly busy with the band to get back to any of your emails in a timely manner.

If you had to hear one more venue representative turn down your business proposition with a “Sorry, but we’ve heard about Eddie’s reputation…”, you might make a detour to go jump off the Empire State Building.

Had he really been that awful to venue properties?

“You look stressed,” Romina notes when you hang up on your third unsuccessful call of the day, slamming the phone down more violently than you should.

“Who, me?” you bitterly reply, looking over your shoulder to where she leans in her chair, turned entirely from her desk to watch you with gentle amusement, “Never. I have never been stressed a day in my life.”

She quirks an eyebrow, “And before this new secret project of yours, I would have agreed.”

“Every venue is shooting me down.”

“It happens,” you yearn to feel the nonchalance that flows through the shrug of her shoulders, as if she’s now the one without a worry in the world, “Are they giving reasons?”

You open your mouth, but your tongue stops short. Because yes, they were each giving the same resounding, completely valid reason. But to admit this is to inform Romina what your secret project really is – something that a certain NDA strictly prohibits for the time being.

“Conflict of schedules,” you tightly lie as your glare diverts to your computer screen, still open on a mostly empty inbox.

Eddie hadn’t emailed you since last week.

Somewhere amongst your frustration, there was a sore disappointment lying in patient wait. You have not a single doubt that once the storm of the task at hand passes, once you finally secure a venue, that you’ll be forced to deal with it. But for now, a boy not emailing you after being so insistent for your personal contact was the least of your worries.

Romina’s voice draws you back in, “Really? How far out are you trying to book for?”

“Three months.”

The squeak of her chair pauses abruptly. Your eyes shift and you catch the way all her mindless swaying has ceased, mouth flat with eyes widened in disbelief.

“Three months?”

“What?” you finally spin your chair to face her, playing off nonchalance. You know why she’s reacting so dramatically, “Should I not be booking that far in advan-”

“I- No, no. You absolutely should be. It should actually be making it easier to book,” she leans forward in her seat, squinting at you, “Is that really the only reason they’re giving?”

You get it. Because she’s right; giving such fair notice should be making your job easier. But you can’t defend yourself and explain how the client you’re representing is the real issue.

“Yeah,” you force a forlorn sigh.

“Jesus,” she whistles out, “Well, that’s just… Fuck. I’m sorry, babe. That’s rough. What types of venues are you even trying for? Wait - didn’t you say you were arranging for a grand opening of a bakery? Wouldn’t they already have their shop set up-”

“Hello ladies.”

Thank fucking God for Lydia.

“Lydia!” you sit up just a little bit straighter, nearly leaping out of your seat with relief as your boss approaches. You knew exactly where Romina’s train of thought was heading, and you wouldn’t have been able to come up with a single pitiful excuse to keep up with your little white lie, “How are you today?”

Romina is still perched in her chair with a confused look, but Lydia doesn’t even glance her way, looking just as concerned as she looks down at you, “I’m… fine. There’s a client for you in the conference room.”

Straight to the point. Except, you didn’t have a meeting scheduled today.

“A client?” you echo, shrinking down a bit. You only have one client, technically, at this moment, “I didn’t have anything on my calendar.”

“Apparently, they were just on this side of town. Said you’d left a few voicemails and he thought it’d be easier to just pop in to discuss things.”

It had to be Matt. He must have gotten one of your frantic voicemails you’d left over the weekend, the ones you’d instantly regretted and worried had lacked in professionalism.

It has to be Matt.

“Oh,” Romina’s eyes are burning holes in the back of your chair as you fumble to lock your computer screen, scrambling to gather anything you might need. The notebook you’d been using to keep track of the entire ordeal crinkles slightly in your grip, “Yeah, of course, that- I’ll go straight there. Are they in one of the smaller conference rooms or the-”

“The main one,” Lydia interrupts you, and her tone makes you pause.

She sounds as if Matt’s arrival is the largest inconvenience she had experienced in the last month.

Why would Matt popping in to talk to me be such a big deal?

She’s clearly not in the mood for questions, so you only nod as you stand up, “Got it.”

And then she’s gone. No interest in joining you, or to question what could be going wrong. No sign of involvement like the day you’d originally met with the band and Matt to sign all documentation.

Your gut twists in knots that not even boy scout’s have discovered yet.

And they only worsen when Romina calls after your retreating figure, “Good luck with your baker!”

You’re kind of fucked. It’s clear she’s no longer buying into your lie of your client, and the thought of facing her after Matt is nausea-inducing. What if you just came clean? Would they sue you for telling Romina? Would Romina tell anyone else if you confided in her? Your thoughts race with question after question as you quickly make your way through the maze of cubicles, taking lefts and rights far too fast as you worry about making Matt wait much longer.

It was just stupid. Because amongst the questions, one rings out that’s insane enough to make the rest of them actually sound reasonable.

If you did manage to fuck this up in any way, would Eddie protect you?

Whether it be because you couldn’t complete the task at hand that was beginning to look impossible, or if it was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, would he defend you?

You’d figured you’d lost his servitude and protection long ago, back when you’d first left that apartment and ignored every attempt at contact. But if it came down to it, would he offer you one last privilege of his defense? Probably not. Which — fair enough. You hadn’t done anything in the last week to have already earned that back. You hadn’t wanted to earn that privilege back, either. No matter how badly you found yourself wanting a new email from him in your inbox, there was a clear line in the sand drawn by your own stick, and you had to stay to your side of it.

You were a big girl. You could handle it.

Just as you finally approach the conference room, eyes trained to the ground and brows tightly furrowed in careful consideration (definitely not frustration, because the thought of Eddie surely couldn’t frustrate you), you make a fatal mistake. It’s a small detail you’d never paid much mind to prior — a stain on the carpet just outside the doorway, subtle yet large once the shadowy shifting of the carpet’s color caught your eyes. You’re so busy letting your eyes trail the perimeter of it, trying to focus on the threaded shades rather than the shade of Eddie’s dark eyes in the hallway the week before, that you aren’t prepared when the toe of your shoe catches against the said carpet.

You should have ate shit, to put it plainly.

One quick fumble, and you’re flying forward, hardly thinking as you throw out your hands to brace for impact. Foolish, considering the fall would have left you with severely aching wrists, or a bruised face. But it never arrives.

Large hands suddenly appear to grab you, catching you halfway through the sudden fall, and the unfamiliar cologne that’s plagued your waking thoughts for a week now overtakes your senses.

You thought it was Matt waiting for you.

“Woah!” his voice echoes easily in the empty hallway, “Shit, are you okay?”

You swore it was Matt waiting for you.

“Fine,” you strangle out, pulling away from that touch as quickly as possible. Like he’s burned you. Like those hands that once knew you all too well held your entire demise in their palms.

And they might.

It wasn’t Matt waiting for you.

Eddie doesn’t seem shocked by your retreat, only watching with a blank face as you regain your balance on your own and avoid eye contact. He looks nice – a leather jacket too shiny to be the one he wore when you wore together, a faded band t-shirt beneath you can’t fully see the logo of but know was bought that distressed just for looks due to the familiar unfamiliarity that has begun to cloud around the man you once knew, heavy boots planted right on the stain in the carpet that had distracted you.

“What did you even trip on?” he finally questions, looking curiously behind you as he retraces your path, “Was it-”

“Air,” you cut him off, “Save me the embarrassment, but I tripped on air.”

If you had half a mind, you would have interrupted with something more useful. Maybe demanded to know why he was here in your office. Questioned his intentions of showing up unannounced. Asked why he never emailed again.

Okay, maybe not that last one.

He lets out a short chuckle, more a breath than anything else as his face finally cracks and he almost grins, “I see. To be fair, it’s an easy thing to trip on. Very hard to see. Almost as if it’s invisible.”

He gauges your reaction, but you don’t let yourself so much as smile at his awkward attempt at a joke.

You can’t. You can’t casually joke with him, you can’t laugh and pretend like there isn’t an elephant sitting on your chest every time you occupy the same space as him. There’s no magic eraser to everything between you two; no amount of emails, no amount of bad jokes that can vanish all that has transpired. Your past and the carpet, it seems, have something in common.

Never thought you’d say that about the ugly threads you only look at to disassociate during particularly long days.

“What are you doing here?” you finally whisper out the right question, and internally cringe as your mouth keeps moving only to tack on a completely unnecessary addition of, “I didn’t receive any emails about a meeting-”

“Matt sent me,” Eddie shrugs. You watch the way the leather creases and fits his wide shoulders, catch yourself studying to see if there’s any new muscle beneath the layers to further estrange you further from him, “He’s been stuck in meetings for the album and single, and said you’d left him a few voice mails so… I’m the rescue team, I guess.”

You finally look him in his eyes, jaw dropping ever so slightly, “You?”

“What about me?”

“You’re my ‘rescue team’?” the words are bitter on your tongue, his presence anything but a relief of rescue, “No offense, but how can you possibly help me?”

And then he smiles. And, oh Lord, you’ve forgotten how nice of a smile he has. It’s painful – a sharp reminder of the past that you just can’t shake. He’s an old photograph that never quite burns, a stain on your favorite article of clothing you’ll never wear again. For a moment, it doesn’t matter how many parts of him he’s replaced, how many pieces of him have been turned over brand new and unfamiliar, because he looks just like the boy you left behind. A relic you can mourn for once you return to your apartment all alone. A whisper you’ll exchange with your children about someday, as you tell them all about the boy who changed you for the worse.

“You’d be surprised,” he muses, reaching a hand up to drag over a chin shadowed over in faint facial hair, “Apparently, once you make it big, you have to learn about more things than just how to play an A chord on a guitar or sing in tune. Business, for example. That’s what you’ve been struggling with, yeah? The business aspect of it all?”

You kind of want to walk away from him. To go and eat shit in a different hallway, on your way to tell Lydia you can’t do this anymore.

“I’m not struggling,” you snap.

He’s quick to lift his hands in surrender, “Don’t shoot the messenger. Those were Matt’s words, not mine.”

“Yeah, well, tell Matt I’m fine,” you huff indignantly, “I’m a professional who can handle myself. I can figure this out on my own.”

You’re turning your back to him, ready to storm off dramatically for your own sanity, when he clears his throat.

You pause. You don’t turn to look, but you halt mid-step.

“Humor me, for a second,” he begins, “What exactly are you fully capable of figuring out on your own?”

“The planning,” you state the obvious, staring at an odd piece of art on the office wall to your left. Not quite turning your head to him, but angling so your voice carries.

“Yeah, no shit,” his words spark a little more anger, a little more rage, “I mean what part of the planning? You’ve left Matt at least two voicemails. Probably more, if he’s resorted to sending me.”

More like five. Possibly seven, but you’d indulged in more wine than would be wise to admitting this weekend after receiving your third venue rejection.

“Maybe he just got tired of babysitting you. Decided to make you someone else’s problem.”

“Maybe,” Eddie hums, and you can hear his slow footsteps as he slowly walks to block your vision of the abstract artwork. Your gaze is cut off from the silvery lines splattered across a black background and forced upon brown eyes that are more lively than you remember from the previous week, “But I already made the trip all the way down here. Might as well make myself useful to you.”

He’s still wearing that smile. The one that belongs captured in a polaroid at the back of your closet. The one frozen in a time that was so much simpler than this.

The kind that leaves a mark – a stain.

“You want to make yourself useful to me?” you narrow your eyes, straighten your shoulders, prepare for battle, “Then leave. That is the most useful thing you can do for me right now – walk out of this building, and leave me to figure this out without being a pest.”

Your words should hurt him, but they only seem to fuel him. It’s the exact same reaction you’d imagined on the other side of all the emails. A pep to his step and a perk in his posture that elicits unhinged annoyance from deep within you.

“No can do,” he smirks, “Sorry, I’m on Matt’s orders to not leave until we figure this out. Together.”

You don’t care how nice Matt is – you decidedly hate him at this moment.

“Eddie,” you don’t notice the way his chest catches when you say his name, even in your defiant tone, “I am telling you right now, there is nothing you can do to help.”

And then he takes you off guard, breathing still not quite steady as he breathes out, “Let’s go get coffee.”

“I already told you, I have no interest in getting coffee or lunch with yo-”

“Not like that,” he waves off, finally slipping back into his casual demeanor, “Just- throw me a bone here, Sugar. We don’t even have to talk. You can bring your laptop and phone, focus on work and pretend I don’t exist the entire time. But I have to stick around long enough to get Matt off my ass, and you clearly have been stuck in this stuffy ass building for too long.”

Sugar.

Your breath catches at the nickname, just as his had when you said his name.

Shakily, you exhale, “No, I-”

“Funny thing,” he shoves both hands in the pockets of his jeans. Well-fitted, fairly new. No signs of distress like he preferred in his youth. Just starch black that clings to skin you once knew, “I’m not asking. Technically, I’m your boss. And as your boss, I’m instructing you to join me for nothing more than a free coffee and change of scenery. Like I said, it’ll be as if I’m not even there. I’ll keep my mouth shut the entire time – strictly business.”

You nearly slip up and inform him that it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t talk – if he’s near you, your body always seems to know. Your body, your senses, your soul. Any time he occupies the same room as you, his vicinity lights something in you impossible to ignore. It had been that way since the first day you met him. And would probably continue to be that way until the day you were buried six feet under.

Even in death, his soul would probably haunt yours. You would never know another day of peace since meeting Eddie Munson.

“You’re not my boss,” you argue, crossing your arms, “You’re my client. Lydia is my boss.”

“And would Lydia appreciate you arguing with a client like this?”

“What do you want from me?”

The question falls from your lips with unexpected weight and exasperation.

Your arms fall down from your chest just as quickly as they’d risen, the two of you encased in silence as you both realize the implication behind the question. It’s about more than just the coffee, more than just his impromptu visit to your work. It’s the heaviest question you could have asked at this moment; and one that neither of you were ready to hear the answer to quite yet.

There’s a million unsaid words swirling behind whiskey irises. A hundred and one conversations never had, a thousand and one battles never witnessed on both ends of this war. Something in them whispers you might not be the only one haunted.

Maybe, just maybe, his soul will only haunt yours for as long as yours haunts his. A haunted house, a ghastly gallery. Two ghosts always meant to hang up parallel to each other in crooked frames, in an empty hallway.

“Just a coffee,” he whispers, and something in you cracks quietly, “Just one cup of coffee, for now.”

With all things considered, it’s not asking that much of you.

You don’t have any fight left in you. Whether he’s here, whether he’s a world away, you’re still destined to be stuck across from him in the damn hallway. Always staring, always drawn. There might not be a single corner of this world far enough away to break whatever thread ties you to the man before you, whether you still know him or not.

After a pregnant pause, you sigh, “Let me grab my purse.”

With all things considered, he probably should be asking more of you.

But you’re grateful he isn’t as you retreat and do exactly as promised, not looking Romina in her eyes before you begin your doomsday march for just one cup of coffee.

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acocktailmoment · 5 months

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Bonfire Bliss !

Ingredients:

50 ml Nine Tines Vodka

150 ml apple juice

1 cinnamon stick

1-2 cloves

1 star anise

1 slice of fresh apple (for garnish)

Ground cinnamon (for garnish)

Instructions:

In a saucepan, combine 150 ml of apple juice with 1 cinnamon stick, 1-2 cloves, and 1 star anise.

Heat the mixture over low to medium heat until it's warm but not boiling. This will infuse the apple juice with delightful spice notes. Do not let it come to a boil.

In a heatproof glass or mug, strain the spiced apple juice to remove the cinnamon stick, cloves, and star anise. You'll be left with the warmly spiced apple juice.

Pour in 50 ml of Nine Tines Vodka, adding a rich and smooth vodka twist to your Bonfire Night beverage.

Garnish with a slice of fresh apple. This not only adds a touch of elegance but also complements the apple juice and Nine Tines Vodka flavour.

Sprinkle a pinch of ground cinnamon on top for that extra layer of warmth and aroma.

Carefully sip and savour the comforting flavours, enjoying the cozy essence of Bonfire Night with a Nine Tines Vodka twist and spiced apple juice.

Enjoy!

Courtesy: Nine Tine / Image by Racheal Parkinson

This article was not sponsored or supported by a third-party. A Cocktail Moment is not affiliated with any individuals or companies depicted here.

#art #design #cocktails #drinks #cocktail #cocktail recipes #recipes #drink recipes #drink #ninetine #bliss #bonfire #vodka #apple juice #cinnamon #anise #clove #racheal parkinson

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tipshouse · 1 year

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Buy Garlic cocktail

The use of garlic is ubiquitous throughout a diverse range of culinary traditions all across the world. Garlic, which is well-known for both its strong aroma and distinct flavor, is frequently used to give a range of foods, such as soups, stews, marinades, and sauces, an additional layer of depth and complexity. Garlic, on the other hand, has seen a surge in popularity over the past several years as a component in many alcoholic beverages.

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Although the idea of garlic in cocktails may sound strange at first, the end result is a refreshingly original and savory take on classic cocktail formulas. Garlic, when used in moderation, may lend cocktails a nuanced and savory note, generating a multifaceted and rich taste profile that is guaranteed to impress even the most discerning palates.

Garlic cocktails have the potential to provide a one-of-a-kind and upscale gastronomic experience in terms of flavor. Garlic's citrus and herbaceous overtones, as well as its slightly spicy undertones, may pair well with a wide variety of other flavors, including honey and ginger, which are more on the sweet side. Garlic has the ability to give traditional cocktail recipes, such as those for a Bloody Mary or a Martini, a new and contemporary spin by adding depth and complexity to the drink.

Garlic can also be infused into a beverage like as vodka or tequila. This is an alternative method. To do this, all that is required is the addition of garlic cloves that have been peeled to a bottle of spirit and the subsequent waiting period of several days. The infusion that is produced can subsequently be utilized in a wide variety of drinks, thereby imparting a delicate garlic flavor to each beverage.

#Garlic_cocktail

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college-girl199328 · 1 year

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Two Canadian residents are living and building an American success story. It should have happened in British Columbia but didn’t because a provincial regulatory body turned them away, calling their idea risky for minors.

In 2017, Gabrielle Mustapich and Sheereen Price were eating popsicles on a hot summer night in North Vancouver when this idea sparked: What if they had alcohol in them?

On Saturday, "here" turned out to be Miami, where the two, who now call California home, were conducting business for their company, Hardpops, a company that sells alcohol-infused freezies (commonly called ice pops in America).

Recently, Hard Pops became the official boozy ice pop of the Florida Panthers. The team says whenever it’s 75 F or warmer (23 C), Hard Pops will be on sale for $7.50.

Want to buy Hard Pops in Canada on a hot, sunny day? You can’t. Mustapich and Price say that after getting their idea and financing in order, they approached B.C.’s Liquor Distribution Board (LDB) and pitched the idea. Hard Pops has an alcohol content of 6.9 percent.

The two who said the LDB seemed promising at first but then flatly rejected them, citing packaging and safety issues. They said, 'You can do this, but we may have to work on a packaging solution together." "We do have social responsibility standards to adhere to." "Which was fair enough," said Mustapich.

Mustapich continued, saying, sure, they said get back to us. Ultimately, a little while later—after we had really made some effort and sourced the equipment—they said, no, we can’t approve this right now.

She stated that the reason was because the LDB said the product was too child-friendly. Social responsibility is an important thing, said Mustapich. And we’re not trying to sell these things to minors.

Case in point: the now-legal marijuana market, where the LDB gave businesses the OK to sell cannabis-infused candy (gummy bears). In an email to Global News, the LDB said it is committed to supporting innovation while balancing the shared responsibility of all industry stakeholders, from manufacturers to retailers, in supporting the responsible use of beverage alcohol.

It also said that through this shared responsibility, it continues to be important that measures are in place in British Columbia to discourage the sale of any alcohol product that is likely to appeal to minors.

The LDB noted that it is committed to supporting innovation and regularly reviews and updates its policies as needed. While B.C. wouldn’t give the green light, the two got the OK to sell Hard Pops in Alberta before deciding to move to Los Angeles.

Notably, Hard Pops was pulled from Alberta, where they had 150 accounts, with the two saying the selling season for boozy freezies was too short. Price said they thought if they could sell in Alberta, they would do quite well in a warmer market.

The idea of frozen alcohol is a good one, but not a new one. In 1997, Global News interviewed an Okanagan restaurant owner with the same concept who sought financial investors.

George MacLeod claimed he named his invention winesicles before changing it to Georgio’s Swig on a Twig. His invention featured a combination of wine and secret ingredients covered by a layer of chocolate. At the time, MacLeod was looking for $600,000 to $700,000 from investors to buy land and equipment so he could start production.

Another B.C. company, Kelowna-based Winterland Beverages, makes Hard Ice Vodka Freezies. The company’s website lists many locations in the U.S., including scores of places in Alberta and Saskatchewan, but none in British Columbia.

It’s unknown what happened to MacLeod’s concept, but Mustapich and Price are hopeful Canadians will have access to Hard Pops without the border. The two say Hard Pops is produced on the East Coast, is trucked all over America, and is under review with a few of the world’s largest retail chains.

Added Price: “We’re Canadians, after all.”

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valgasnewsthings · 2 years

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Comarum is a plant for victory.

When medicine is powerless.

And on my experience I found, when medicine is powerless, when you are having polyarthritis.

Long time I searched remedy, which returning for my joint mobility. But am I keeping having worsening.Am though about a disability. And one year I tried searched a save. Visited parent in village. Providence managed for my deeds. And in village I met with one mighty grandfather.He had a powerful soul ,and physical force, but a not comfortable felt before him for my physical squalor. Grandfather all life lived alone with nature, but educated brilliantly .And without detailed story, he understood,what is happened with me, Barely step over fifty years threshold. And he cured begun me with herbs. He learned me cooked spirit infusion of comarum, as dried roots ,stems, roots chop on pieces on one cm in size ,add in half l. bottle on 1/2 size, and add vodka or spirit on 70C, infuse three weeks dark into place, use one tbl.sp. in water diluting for 3 times/day before meal, and drink it on the cold time of the year.

And in a using this remedy he prescribed me diet,as avoiding eating all sour, spicy, alcohol on any kind, and in other remedies of plants. And with this remedy used am applied lotions regular on an all ache joints, as three tbl.sp. leafs adding in half glass of the hot water, warm till boiling, put in gauze bag, and apply put to ache place. All year I cured with comarum, drunk as half l. of remedy of spirit, and of water and constantly applied lotions. When am returned to the town s life, an other peoples very wondered,that am true changed, as very visible , my health condition.And of course village life is fresh air, healthy meal.

And against pressure is good.

On a last time am often saw recipes of herbs , where shared about comarum palustre L. Many people's healing are gout, salts sediments, rheumatism. But my mum using his for pressure lowering.Such recipes am never saw, thus am share with you , and when pressure changing in her, but she is having rising pressure, thus she's cooking comarum roots and drink one week or more,and very happy for result. A remedy cook very easy, two tbl.sp. dried roots adding in one l. of the hot water and infuse all night for a next morning filter, and drink within a day on the small portions.Be happy if this recipe will work for readers.

Salts are drive out.

Am feeling bad sometimes without reasons, bones hurt, joints are not bending, neck hurt. Am thought about osteochondrosis affected. All are, creak. And one day in therapeutist I shared about this, and doctor s age,like me and works , but am three years a pension, and staying home with my grandchildren. And we are talked, doctors of course too sick. And in speech I found ,that in salts sedimenting blood test is bad , and she advised me to buy pills of comasrum palustre, this is powder of dried herb and roots. He is an awesome removing salts superfluous , cleans and renew blood. And pills using one /day and within a few months. Or you can cook a herb of comarum , but this a time need, but effect better. Am enjoys a pills. In three months since using am feeling healthy, take this for note!

Comarum is a shy herb, growing on the marsh soils, and calling his comarum palustre. This plant is ability, like cut with saber are aches in lots of problems. And one feature in his, if you cure begin, thus do this till a victory and not matter about a time, slowly and right he leads to the health.

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#Blogger #comarum

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elminx · 2 years

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Fire Cider Blood Marys: A Potion to Cleanse & Banish Illness

You can also view this on my blog here.

Sometimes the right spell comes to you at the right time.

In this case, as is often the case for me as I practice cottage-style witchery, the “spell” was a perfect recipe: Fire Cider Bloody Marys. If you’ve been following along for a while, you may have caught on by now that I like to eat my magic – I feel that this method allows for quick integration of your spell components and intention with your energy (fueled, of course, by the fire of your own digestive tract!) Sometimes, I craft spells that are meant entirely to be consumed but more often than not, I create them as an additional level of energy to other workings that I am doing.

A note on kitchen magic: Like many types of magic, kitchen magic can have many layers. It is totally okay to look at this recipe, buy its ingredients, and make it – one and done. That’s just not how I do magic. I like to craft as many of the pieces of the spell as I can. This allows me to slowly infuse my intention into every step of the process. Here I will give guidelines for crafting your own fire cider and eastern white pine vodka but always adapt this to your own practice. A note on healing magic: This recipe is designed, as I have written it to be created to Protect Against or Banish mild illness. It is in no way a substitute for a doctor’s visit and shouldn’t be taken as medical advice.

It’s been a hard two years. (You know, you’ve been there – haven’t you?) Though I work from home, this past couple of months has been especially challenging for my partner who runs a frame shop and printing business that forces him to work closely with the general population. He’s seen everything from customers who show up in full charcoal respirators to those that come in visibly sick and coughing. Since he can’t not work (we are not, unfortunately, independently wealthy), we’ve come up with a series of “bad day protocols” – how we both respond when he thinks that he may have been exposed to somebody who appeared to be ill. The one that we’ve both found to be the most enjoyable is the shot of half fire cider and half whiskey that we each take together (drinking to our continued health and safety) after he has sanitized himself on a bad day. This is why, when we came across the idea that one might mix fire cider into a Bloody Mary, we knew that it was going to be a winner. We’re both cocktail fanatics and a fan of brunch, so the Bloody Mary is an absolute favorite drink in our household. The spicier the better, too – the best Bloody Marys that we have ever had (prior to this anyway!) have all been in the South. We bicker back and forth – he favors the bacon Bloody Marys we had in a cute brunch place in Charleston (I have sadly lost its name to time) and I favor the jalapeno Bloody Marys that we had at The Olde Pink House in Savannah. We both also tend to prefer a Bloody Mary prepared with gin rather than the traditional vodka for a bit more flavor.

Once we’d tried the recipe and agreed that it was, in fact, a HUGE success; I immediately got to the witching. In my opinion, all it takes is a bit of kitchen witch knowledge and some general ingenuity to turn a solid drink into a magic potion. (The secret is in the stirring or the shaking) For my fire cider blood mary, the magical associations were obvious: vodka or gin are generally used for protection as is tomato juice, and all of the ingredients used to make a solid fire cider are amazing for banishment. I decided to add in one extra special secret ingredient, my eastern white pine vodka infusion to further the protective energy. Sure enough, the sweet notes of the sap and the lower earthy tones of the pine needles were the exact right thing to bring a very solid cocktail to one that was absolutely over the top.

Eastern White Pine Vodka

I’ve written about my discovery of the wonder that is Eastern White Pine vodka before. It is so simple to make and is absolutely divine! You just gather some pine needles and the woody ends off of an eastern white pine tree, fill a jar and cover with vodka, and let sit for a week. Yes – it is really that easy! You don’t even need high-end vodka for this purpose – we use the store brand vodka from our local grocery store. The only thing to keep in mind is that if you are wild harvesting, the location of the plant matters. I would stay away from harvesting from a plant near a major roadway, cemetery, or other places where toxic chemicals may have seeped into the ground and been absorbed into the tree. Additionally, you want to avoid places that may be sprayed with pesticides

Luckily for us, our friends have a number of mature eastern white pines on their property that we can safely harvest from. It takes a relatively small amount of pine to fill even a half-gallon Ball jar, so the tree doesn’t even notice and, in any case, what lies low to the ground will be goat food if we don’t get to it first! (The perils of being a tree on a goat farm, I suppose). I have really enjoyed picking pine with the yearlings who I’ve known since the day that they were born last April.

Eastern White Pine, like all of the members of the pine family, has magical associations with Fertility, Abundance, Protection, and Road Opening. Make sure that you put your intention into your pine vodka as you are infusing it – you can do this by talking to your vodka every day as you shake it, with candle magic, sigils, or any other way that you normally work your intentions per your tradition.

Fire Cider

Fire cider, at its essence, is an oxymel created by using a bunch of immune-boosting ingredients. It is almost as easy to make as my Eastern White Pine vodka though it does involve a trip to the grocery store instead of to the goat farm (something that I find much less enjoyable if we’re being honest). It’s an old folk remedy of dubious parentage – some equate it to an updated version of the famed Four Thieves Vinegar and even its name has some controversy associated with it. That aside – when made properly – it is outstandingly good, will certainly “cure what ails you”, and is the perfect way to do a bit of longer-form kitchen magic.

I will talk about the associations for the ingredients that I used in my fire cider recipe, but please remember that magic-making (and cooking!) is a very personal experience – feel free to make this recipe your own! There are many recipes for fire cider online and you can certainly find one to your liking if this is not it. Just remember that for the purposes of this recipe (a fire cider bloody mary), you will want to keep your ingredients on the more savory end of the spectrum. Though tasty, a sweet fire cider would not work for our purposes! Like with the pine vodka, fire cider is a longer form infusion though in this case, we use apple cider vinegar as the base. Choose an apple cider vinegar with a SCOBY for the probiotic benefits it will provide. Here we used onion (protection, banishing), garlic (protection, banishing), dried jalapeno peppers (protection, banishing), horseradish (protection), turmeric (healing), ginger (protection, healing), lemongrass (protection, healing), lemon (cleansing, healing), shallots (protection, banishing), and a few sprigs of eastern white pine (protection). These yummy ingredients need to meld together in the fire cider for four to six weeks – remember to shake your mixture daily to infuse your intention into the mixture! With fire cider, I tend to pick either an intention to Banish Illness, Protect Against Illness, or both. Once your infusion is done, you add raw honey to taste. Store your fire cider in a cool, dry place and it will last indefinitely.

The Recipe

You’ll notice that I didn’t include a section for making your own tomato juice. This is because we haven’t perfected this yet – in fact, we are content to buy this part ourselves. Our current favorite is Mr. & Mrs. T’s Original Bloody Mary mix, that’s what I will use for this recipe. You can substitute V8, any other bloody mary mix you prefer, or go all the way out there and make your own tomato juice entirely. If you are using straight tomato juice, you may want to add lemon juice, Tobasco, and celery salt to your bloody mary – experiment until your drink is perfect for your tastes!

2 oz. Eastern White Pine Vodka

6 oz. Bloody Mary Mix

2 oz. Fire Cider

2-3 Dashes Angustora bitters

1-3 turns on pepper

Optional garnish: 2-3 olives, a spring of eastern white pine

Add the first four ingredients to a shaker with ice. Shake vigorously until the shaker is cold thinking about your intention to Protect Against or Banish Illness. Pour into the glass, top with cracked pepper for additional protection/banishment, olives on a cocktail skewer, and a sprig of eastern white pine. Makes one drink.

Do you like my work? You can support me by Buying Me a Ko-Fi or Commission Me to write a natal report for you.

#witchblr #words #mine #kitchen witch #kitchen magic #kitchen witchery #potion making #cocktails #witchy cocktails #fire cider bloody mary #bloody marys #fire cider #eastern white pine vodka #infusions #cocktail recipe #wild harvesting #eastern white pine #oxymel

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mrs-gucci · 3 years

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For the 4th of July prompt:

Obviously Clyde is the best bartender in town. But you his lovely girlfriend come up with all the festive drinks for the holiday and they are a hit! What better way to thank his lady than to sneak off to his office and show her a hood time????

A Proper Thank Ya {Clyde Logan x Reader} 🎇

author's notes: hello, hello! I absolutely adore this request, this is such a great idea and I thank you for submitting it! I had to do quite a bit of research (and quite a bit of drooling over the delicious sounding recipes!) to create the specialty drink menu lol but it was totally worth it.

warnings: fluff. smut. bartending tings. oral sex (f receiving). clyde’s a pussy eating king.

(possible) tw's: mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption. semi-public smut.

Duck Tape’s Fourth of July Specialty Drinks

-The Flirty Firecracker: a summertime holiday favorite; one shot of pineapple vodka with Monin raspberry and Torani blue raspberry syrup. -Rocket Pop Jello Shots: this fun treat is inspired by the classic rocket popsicles; red, white and blue vodka-infused Jello in a cup, topped with a festive candle. -Watermelon Texas Margarita: for anyone craving a reprieve from the typical sweet or slushy, this boozy, refreshing cocktail made with sliced watermelons, limes, tequila, orange liqueur, and Pabst Blue Ribbon is the drink for you. -Bomb Pop Cocktail: a childhood favorite turned adult favorite; champagne with a firecracker popsicle. -Red, White & B(lue)oozy Lemonade Slush: celebrate American independence with this fun, festive layered refresher; featuring the texture of a smoothie with sensational flavors of Blue Curacao, Smirnoff Red, White & Berry Vodka, and homemade lemonade.

The bar has been packed all weekend long after word of the incredible Fourth of July Drink Specials at Duck Tape spread like wildfire around the area. Everyone, men and women alike, are going crazy for the fun and festive drinks.

Clyde’s got his hands full with making all of the different beverages so he recruits you, the mastermind behind the menu, to help him out. Some of the drinks require preparation ahead of time, which was mostly your job, not that you minded.

You’ve been a bartender before, but you quickly discovered after your first night as assistant bartender that your skills of dealing with the crowds and general hustle and bustle are quite rusty. But, by the peak times, you’ve gotten back into the groove and by the holiday, you’re an old pro.

Each and every time someone orders one of the specialty drinks, Clyde makes sure that the customer knows that their beverage was created and born of the amazingly creative mind of his beautiful girlfriend, to which he then gestures to you. He even instructed the wait staff to give you credit for the beverages when they take them over to the table.

He’s so, so proud of you, a fact that’s more than obvious to you, the staff and all patrons of Duck Tape. The way his face lights up every time someone asks him about the drinks or he gets to talkin’ with someone about them never fails to make you smile.

Tonight’s the big night, the actual Fourth of July, and you’re gearing up for another chaotic night with a whirlwind of drink-making. Although you’d love to have a night off and some private time with Clyde for the holiday, you’re more than willing and happy to help out at the bar. You’ve forgotten how fun and exciting bartending for a big crowd can be, plus the generous tips are a nice bonus.

From eight o’clock ‘till midnight, the bar is at almost full capacity, patrons chatting and laughing as they slurp down the specialty cocktails. Your twenty minute reprieve cannot come fast enough, and you practically sprint over to the back office when the clock strikes ten thirty, followed closely by your equally enthusiastic boyfriend.

He closes and locks the door behind you and lets out a long sigh, shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Holy shit.”

You laugh softly, looking up at him. “Yeah, seriously, holy shit. It’s packed out there.”

“All thanks to you, ma darlin’.” Clyde smiles and walks up to you, bending down to kiss your lips, hands resting on your hips. “That menu ‘s incredible, people are lovin’ it. Thank ya.”

“No thanks necessary, honey. I’m always happy to help.”

His eyes darken slightly in the low light of the single desk lamp, and you bite your lip, knowing exactly what that means.

“Seriously, thank ye. How can I make it up t’ ya, beautiful?”

You open your mouth, ready to insist that he doesn’t have to do anything, but his lips cut you off. Your eyes flutter shut and your hands move up to run through his sweaty hair, giving it a few gentle tugs.

He grunts softly into your mouth, lips attacking yours with immense passion and aggression. He nudges you backwards, guiding you towards the desk. Your ass presses up against the desk after a minute of maneuvering, and when it does, Clyde pulls away softly.

“Take yer bottoms off n’ lay back with yer legs spread out. Gonna thank ya properly for helpin’ me out, gonna thank ya over n’ over again ‘till yer beggin’ me t’ stop, pumpkin.”

You shudder, biting your lip as you quickly shed your shorts and panties, hopping up on the desk. You lay back and spread your legs out, exposing your glistening folds to Clyde’s parched gaze.

His jaw clenches, eyes roaming over the newly-exposed skin before sinking down gently on his knees. Your back arches slightly when his hot breath fans over your folds.

“We ain’t got much time, but I’ll try ma best t’ show ma gratitude as many times as I can, darlin’.”

“It’s okay, Clyde, I don’t need--ohhhh!” You gasp when his mouth smothers your folds suddenly, talented tongue swiping around experimentally, searching for the sacred bundle of nerves.

Your hands slide down and tangle in his hair, thighs gripping the sides of his head while his mouth works your folds.

“Clyde, s-shit...”

He smirks against your center, tickling your lips and inner thighs with his whiskers. “Ye think ya can gimme two by the time our break’s up, beautiful?”

“Two?” Your eyes widen and you chew your lip. “You better pull out every trick up your sleeve.”

Something primal flashes across his gaze and suddenly, he’s back on you, mouth and tongue and lips passionately making out with your soaked folds. His newfound determination to give you two orgasms was unrelenting and it wasn’t long before you’re teetering on the edge.

“I’m gonna c-cum, honey.” You breathe, tugging at his hair urgently.

His tongue shoves itself up into your leaking hole and begins swirling around, which is exactly what you needed to be propelled over the edge. Your orgasm hits and you have to cover your mouth as a soft cry escapes your lips.

Clyde licks you through it, then teases your entrance with his thick textured fingers. You gasp, hands gripping tighter in his hair when he pushes two digits in.

Still reeling and over-sensitive from your first climax, your back arches and you whine audibly, eyes squeezing shut as his fingers begin fucking you. You’re soaked and almost immediately, you can hear lewd squelching with each of his digits’ thrusts.

“Ma god, yer so fuckin’ wet for me.” He says, seemingly to himself. “Drenched ma fingers an’ they haven’t even been in ya fer five fuckin’ minutes.”

Your hips jerk and gyrate against his touch, soon starting to fuck yourself on his fingers. He looks over at the clock, eyes widening when he realizes that he’s only got ten minutes left.

His head tilts forward and his lips wrap around your stiff clit, sucking passionately on the bundle of nerves. He smirks to himself when his fingers curl up inside you, which earns him a loud gasp.

“C’mon, Y/N, cum fer me again. I know ya can do it, yer such a good girl.”

You’re trembling, quivering all over at this point, your second orgasm quickly appearing on the horizon. Each suck and stroke is strategic, methodical, aiming to bring you to another earth-shattering climax. And it certainly doesn’t take long.

Within mere minutes, you’re gushing around his fingers with a long, muffled moan. Your thighs are visibly shaking, feeling as if they’ll give out any second as you ride out your orgasm.

Clyde strokes you through it gently, kitten-licking your clit while petting your walls slowly, knowing that you’re especially sensitive now. He pulls away with care, watching as your cunt clenches and shimmers in the aftermath of orgasm.

He stands back up and bends down over you, connecting his slick-tinged lips onto yours. You moan softly into his mouth at the taste of yourself, pulling away with a smile.

“That was s-so amazing.” You whisper, reaching up for another quick kiss. “Thank you, honey.”

He smiles back down at you, pressing his lips on your forehead.

“Just givin’ ye a proper thank ya, darlin’.”

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fanfickittycat · 3 years

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One of Us

Title: One of Us

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen (anime)

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader

Genre: Angst to fluff

Fic Summary: You return to Tokyo where you are reunited with the man who broke your heart a decade ago

Rating: T

A/N: my first Nanami fic!!! I love him so much. Just a simple one-shot about rekindling your love after being apart with a fluffy ending. Yes, the title is an ABBA reference, no I will not be taking any questions on it at this time. If you'd like to read this on AO3 then you can here otherwise the fic is below the cut. Let me know what you thought!!!

I’m lucky that I came back during the spring, you thought to yourself, as you meandered around campus. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, and pink petals danced around your ankles with every step. Even the scent infused itself into the air, carrying a bittersweet undertone to it as you reminisced about your time here as a student. The sound of chalk on the board; the feel of the grass against your cheek as you hit the ground during training; the look on Nanami’s face when he rejected you and this world. It had been spring then too.

“You’re here!” trust Gojo to spoil a melancholy moment. You rolled your eyes playfully, accepting the hair ruffling from your upperclassman with weak jabs back at him.

“Gojo, stop” you laughed “we’re not kids anymore.”

“Says who?” he pulled away, adjusting the black blindfold over his eyes “you still look the same.” He teased, patting your head for emphasis. You still came up a whole head shorter than him and then some.

“You don’t” you retorted “you look old. What are you, like 40?”

“What?! You know I’m not” he whined. He was so easy to wind up sometimes. You half listened to him as he complained to you, citing his skin care routine and the regular comments he got about how youthful he looked before nudging him teasingly. The two of you walked back down the path towards the main building, feeling the nostalgia seep into your bones softly.

“You really haven’t changed” you said with a smirk “still vain as ever.”

“And you’re still as sharp tongued as ever.” He sighed, putting an arm around you “still. I’m glad you’re back. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to throw a party.”

“You’re a lightweight, Gojo” you said, remembering the time he had snuck in vodka during the winter of his final year. He had wanted to show off and ended up throwing up after two shots, before he passed out in the same pile of vomit. He had never snuck in alcohol again.

“You’re not, I remember you and Nanami having a drinking contest one time.”

“It wasn’t a drinking contest. We were just having wine and cheese. It was a very civilised affair.”

“You must have done a lot of that kind of thing in Europe.”

“Not really” you shrugged “it’s not really something to do when you’re alone.” You didn’t mean to sound so sad, but it wasn’t easy to hide, especially from a man with Six Eyes. You were glad he didn’t press you on it, instead opting to blabber on about how great his new first year students were, and his unmatched skill as a teacher. Gojo always seemed to walk the line between being insufferable and incredible. Nanami had often winced whenever he heard Gojo start a new tangent, and you would rub his back reassuringly. It became an unspoken gesture between the two of you. When you’d failed at mastering a new cursed technique, Nanami would be there to hand you a tissue for your bloodied nose and rub soothing circles on your back. Maybe that’s why your final moment together was so sad. You’d told him you loved him, and he told you that he wanted nothing to do with sorcery in exchange for a normal, human life. He’d left you crying, and the absence of his palm on your back made you feel colder and more alone than ever.

“…so the official party is at 7 but the real party will start after. Are you listening?”

“Official party at 7. Real party after.” You repeated “I’ll wear something that can suit both.”

You had wanted to ask Gojo if Nanami was going to be there, but you held your tongue instead. You hadn’t heard anything from him after you two had split ways, with him becoming a salary man and you going abroad to conduct research. You already knew that if you asked, you’d be met with disappointment. Still, perhaps it was better this way. You might actually be able to relax tonight and remember what social interaction felt like. You wouldn’t have to worry about what to say if you saw him there, or overthink the black dress you were planning on wearing tonight. You’d heard that even Utahime was going to be there. You owed it to everyone making an effort for you, to be present and gracious.

The nerves were still there of course. You were happy to see the small collection of former classmates and teachers there, and excited to catch up. It was strange to think of how close you all were once and then you’d left and avoided talking to anyone beyond a few words at a time. Now, the bonds between you were a little rusty but still strong. It calmed the butterflies in your stomach to know that everyone still accepted you, though Utahime scolded you for it. Your eyes kept lingering at the door, in anticipation of him entering the room with a curt apology about his lateness but then you’d catch yourself and internally reprimand your actions.

“You’ve always been too tough on yourself” Utahime said, sipping her tea knowingly.

“Sorry” you apologised lamely, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

She huffed at you “stop apologising, it’s not your fault that men are idiots.” She eyed Gojo, who was trying to impersonate Yoshinobu, and sighed deeply. It made you smile.

“Thanks” you wanted to say something more but the lack of social interaction over the many years constricted your words. You didn’t even know what to say, let alone how to physically say it. Utahime didn’t mind however and squeezed your shoulder.

“God, I can’t stand him” she said, pinching the skin between her eyebrows. You turned to see Gojo laughing obnoxiously at something.

“Still single too, I presume” you said.

“You know he could never be tied down and imagine that poor woman” she groaned “it’s best he stays single. Imagine if he procreated.” She shuddered, making you laugh.

Ieri joined the two of you, shaking her head at her co-worker’s antics “I’m glad you’re back” she said to you “being a woman in this line of work is hard enough, and then you have to deal with that.”

You smiled “I’m glad to be back, even if it’s a little hard sometimes.”

“You know” Ieri looked down at her drink that she had spiked “wounds take time to heal and it’s important to cover them, but you also have to take the bandages off at some point and let it breathe.”

“You’re wise as ever Ieri” you said.

“Hmmm I don’t think so” Utahime said, frowning “if she was so ‘wise’ then she’d quit smoking.” It prompted a whole conversation, part jokes, part argument between the two and then Gojo stepped in to see what was happening which led to him being verbally bullied by the two women as you watched on and laughed.

“You’re all being so mean to me considering I planned this party” Gojo said, mock snivelling “and the after party.”

“That’s true” you said, perking Gojo up instantly “thank you for inviting everyone.”

“We’re not done yet” he said, bringing a corner of his blindfold down to wink at you.

The after party was more chaotic than you had envisioned. Despite not drinking anything, Gojo still managed to scream-sing the lyrics to every song into the karaoke microphone, sometimes even trying to elongate certain sounds in an attempt to emulate Mariah Carey. Needless to say, Utahime was so irritated that she agreed to join Ieri outside while she smoked. You wandered over to the bar and pouring a generous amount of wine into your glass, feeling warm and happy for the first time in a long time. Of course, you knew that it was the alcohol primarily, but it had also been so long since you’d had fun. You were going to allow yourself to enjoy it.

“Didn’t you think I was soulful?” Gojo asked, his grin wide and satisfied like the Cheshire cat.

“Very” you said, watching out the corner of his eye as he poured himself a coke triumphantly “I didn’t even know some of those notes existed.”

He shrugged mock casually “sometimes it’s a curse to be so blessed.” You two continued to talk, laughing at the ridiculous things Gojo said as he sat on the bar stool next to you, leaning casually against the bar. He sat up quickly at one point, looking past you with rapt attention.

“What is it, boy?” you jokingly asked and when he didn’t answer quickly enough you turned to look behind you. There, standing cautiously at the door in a jacket and tie was Nanami.

“Finally,” you heard Gojo murmur but when you turned back to confront him, he had disappeared into thin air. You felt afraid to turn, knowing that Nanami had probably seen you. You felt your heart race in your chest. He was here. This wasn’t a dream or your imagination. The wine made your legs feel weak and shaky as you clumsily stood, pressing your hands down your dress to smooth it out. Your palms felt clammy as you did so. Downing the remainder of the wine in your glass was attractive, but you could already feel his presence near you.

“Nanami” you breathed out, swallowing nervously as you looked up at him. You had often thought about what would happen if you met again and you’d played the scenario in so many ways; one where you were cool and calm, another where you cracked a killer one liner; even one where you’d pull him in for a kiss that would ignite the flames of your relationship. Instead, you felt your nerves shoot through your body and you felt like a mess.

“Your hair” you said lamely, reaching a hand up before stopping yourself and letting your fingers curl into your palm in shame “it’s different.”

“Yes” he seemed taken aback by your sudden note on his appearance “I changed it a while ago.”

“It looks nice” you said, feeling warmth flood your cheeks at your pathetic comment “it suits you.” This wasn’t a lie. The shorter cut emphasised the sharpness of his cheekbones, which looked lethal in the dimmed lighting. He was taller too, if only by a little, and broader as well. You hadn’t anticipated that he’d look better after all this time. It made it hard to think coherently.

“Thank you” he said, “you look well too.” Disappointment already tinged in your stomach. He was just as strict with his feelings now as ever before. You both stood there awkwardly for a couple of seconds, wanting to speak and yet not at the same time.

“How’s normal life working out for you?” You asked, hoping your jovial tone would make things less tense.

“Oh. Well, it didn’t” he said, taking a seat on the barstool and pouring himself a glass of wine to join you “I tried to do it, but I couldn’t. Work is shit.”

Your surprised both you and he when you laughed “and what? This is the height of luxury?”

He smiled into his glass “no, it’s shit, as well but at least I’m better at it.” He raised his glass to you to clink “to this sorcery shit.” You smiled too, eagerly charging your glass to meet his. You watched him sip, allowing yourself to really look at him. Your eyes traced over his profile, drinking in the angles of his jawline and the elegant slope of his nose.

“I’m sure Europe was better” he said, making you snap out of your daze “at the very least, the food must have been delicious.”

“Oh, yeah” you said inattentively, thinking about evenings in foreign capitals where you fell asleep over your work with a half empty bowl of ramen next to you.

“It was interesting, and I learned a lot” you said, repeating what you had told everyone “I’m glad I’m home though.” You looked at him to gauge his reaction. His face was impassive as stone as he nodded. Dejected, you swirled the liquid around your glass, unsure of how to proceed.

“You were so adamant about leaving” you found yourself saying, the wine loosening your tongue “I’d never seen you so determined about something before.”

“I thought I knew everything back then” he sighed “I was so sure that I’d turn my back on this and work hard to maintain a normal life with a stable job, and money, and a family to provide for.”

You felt stunned “I didn’t know you wanted a wife and kids.”

He smiled without humour “well, something like that.” You watched wordlessly as he emptied the glass down his throat.

“I guess this line of work makes it hard to have those kinds of things.” You could picture Nanami in your head, in a dark suit and tie as he kissed his wife and child goodbye before going to work. He’d probably be good at it too. Firm but caring as he helped his child with their maths homework or opened a jar for his wife who would cook dinner for him every night. He’d dote on his family too, taking them to the beach and up the mountains or abroad. He’d probably keep a picture of them on his desk at work too. It pained you that he felt he couldn’t have that; let alone that you could never give him that.

He turned to look at you “well that and I knew I couldn’t tie you down like that.”

“Me?” you couldn’t have hidden your shock if you tried.

“You wanted a career” he said plainly “one that involved research into cursed objects and continuing to improve your skills and techniques. I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

“You didn’t even give me a choice” your throat felt hoarse as you grappled with this new truth “you just made that decision for me.” You stood up, feeling woozy on your tipsy legs but determined all the same to get away. You needed air, and the chance to absorb everything you’d heard. All these years you’d assumed he felt nothing for you, and you’d been so embarrassed and upset that you put yourself in self-exile because of it.

“Would you have gone with me if I asked?” he said, following you up the stairs and out of the basement of the bar. The night air was cold and crisp against your hot body.

“Would you really have given up everything because of me?”

“I did give up everything because of you.” You said, turning to clutch the sleeve of his beige blazer, feeling your heart palpitate as your knuckle brushed the skin of his hand. Tears pricked your eyes and you looked down, feeling the rush of emotions you had kept chained away in the shadows rear its head into the light.

“I’m sorry I realised it all too late” he said, and before you could think he had pulled you into a tight embrace. You fought against him at first, wanting to be angry with him for assuming things on your behalf and making you suffer so miserably for so long, but you couldn’t. You gave in, letting your tears blot onto his rich blue shirt. His tie tickled your cheek as he let you press your face into his chest like you used to. His hand automatically began to take small, gentle laps on your back. He whispered his apologies over and over again, finally pressing a tender kiss on the top of your head.

“Nanami” you mumbled, pulling away so you could look up at him. His eyes were piercing as they regarded you. One of his hands remained on your back, whilst the other came up to cup your cheek fondly.

“I love you” he said quietly, pink appearing in his cheeks as he admitted it to you “and I hope it’s not too late to say it, however I’d understand if you didn’t feel the same. I was awful to you.” He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped when you pressed a finger against his soft lips.

“Kento” you said, tasting the way his name sounded for the first time “I love you too.” He took it as permission to lean down, capturing your lips against his in a kiss that you had been dreaming of since you’d met. He was still cautious as always, not wanting to push you too much, but you couldn’t help but enthusiastically pull him closer, standing on the tips of your toes to be closer to him. You shivered when he opened his mouth to take your bottom lip between his own, sucking on the plump skin as you felt a whisper of wind snake around the two of you, depositing fallen petals on your shoulders like confetti.

#updates #my writing #fanfickittycat #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk one shot #jjk headcanons #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami kento drabble #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fanfic

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rockymountainwitch · 3 years

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Different Crystal Spell Work

Crystal Elixirs

Crystal elixirs, or sometimes referred to as essences, are made by infusing water with the vibrations of a particular crystal or stone. They are used for physical, emotional and spiritual healing as well as magic. The most common way of using them is by drinking the water, but they can also be used topically on the skin or added to bathwater.

WARNING & TAKE CAUTION: Some crystals and stones are highly toxic and should never be used in elixirs. Amazonite, azurite, cinnabar, emerald, malachite and pyrite are just a few examples of minerals containing toxins that can leach into water. There are other stones that will begin to dissolve in water, such as selenite and kunzite. Rule of thumb; names ending in ‘ite’ are problematic when they come into contact with water.

If you are considering substitutions for the elixir spells, or branching out to create your own, this is not the time to simply “go with your gut”. It’s very important to do a thorough research on any stone you’re considering for use in an elixir. It’s also recommended to use polished stones rather than raw, since there is even less likelihood of any unwanted mineral traces leaching into the water.

Simple Elixirs

Below are some instructions for creating a simple elixir to be used within a day or two. For longer-lasting elixirs, you’ll need to use a preservative - brandy, vodka or distilled vinegar for you young’uns. The advantage of taking this extra step is that you can use the elixir multiple times over an extended period of time, just a few drops will usually suit most purposes.

For the sake of keeping it simple, I will not be including this step. But if you are intent on this, ask me how privately!

Note: There are methods for charging water with toxic stones that don’t involve placing the stone directly in the water. However, for safety’s sake, we will not be going over those at this time.

Spring water or purified water - tap water is okay in a pinch but it’s best to at least use a Brita or other type of filter if possible.

Clear glass bowl - a drinking class is an appropriate substitute.

Clear lid or plastic wrap.

A crystal or stone (nontoxic) of your choice.

3-5 quartz crystals (optional - these amplify your intentions!)

Place the cleared and charged stone in the bowl, focusing on your intention for the elixir. Slowly pour the water over the stone, using at least enough water to make one class but not much more than that.

Allow the crystal’s vibrations to charge the water. This could take a couple of hours or it could be overnight, depending on your preference. Many witches like to use sunlight for a couple of hours. This doesn’t work on cloudy days, however, and isn’t recommended for stones that fade in sunlight such as colored quartz and fluorite. Moonlight is a great alternative, provided it’s clear skies and the moonlight shines directly onto the stone for a couple of hours.

In addition, you can use quartz crystals placed around the elixir to strengthen the vibrational quality of the water, but this is entirely up to you.

It is also possible to leave the elixir indoors overnight, either covered or in the fridge. The stone will release its vibrations into the water regardless of where it’s sitting. It’s just nice to have the enhancement of natural light.

If neither sunlight or moonlight is possible, don’t let that stop you! And if you can use quartz around the elixir, this can definitely raise the quality!

Once charged, pour the water into a drinking glass or a jar - not made by metal or plastic if possible - and catch the stone in your hand before it falls into the new container.

Thank the stone for its energy and its presence in your life. You can repurpose the stone and charge it for other intentions!

Your elixir is good for 24 hours.

Crystal Bath Spells

If the elixir does not work for you, then using crystals in a bath is just as good of a way to create an energy adjust for the mind, body and soul! Similar to the elixirs, the vibrations of the crystals infuses the water with their balancing energies. Clear quartz and rose quartz are safe, popular stones to use this way.

Remember to research other crystals if you are wanting to experiment. Some stones will dissolve and others may be toxic for the skin. Be sure to rinse and recharge stones after using them in the bath!

Crystal & Candle Spells

Crystals and candles make great partners in magic, symbolizing the elements of earth and fire, as well as the stones representing their own elements! This type of crystal magic allows for more flexibility when it comes to creating your own variations, as you can use any kind of stone you like without worrying about toxicity or water damage.

You will need:

4 of your chosen crystals

1 candle representing your intentions.

Arrange the crystals in a circle around the candle.

Touch each one with your power hand and directly charge it for the purposes you are seeking to manifest. Remember your affirmations! Say along the lines of: “I now charge this crystal with the power to connect to ______” Insert your intentions.

After charging each crystal, close your eyes and visualize how you will feel when there are no concerns to trouble you. Really feel the emotions and embrace them, remember how it feels knowing that your shoulders bear no more burdens regarding your intentions. You can say, “I manifest ______ in my daily life, having all that I need and more.”

Leave the crystals in place until the candle burns out on it’s own.

Crystal & Herb Spells - my favorite.

Joining crystals with herbs in spellwork is a great way to amplify the power of each of these Earth-given magical tools. We will go over spell jars later, but these come into play. You can combine your stones or crystals with any herbs you are needing to use that will help with your intentions, whether it’s love, finances, career, etc.

Buried Crystal Spells

These spells use the power of the Earth even more directly by returning the crystals to their source. Raw stones are ideal for this type of work since there are no traces of chemical additives between the surface of the stone and the soil, but you can use polished stones as well! The strength of your focused intention is more important than the stone and whether it’s polished or raw.

Simply charge the crystal with your intention and, making sure this crystal is one you can part with, take the stone to a location far from your home. Somewhere you rarely find yourself in. It could be a park, across town or a wooded/otherwise rural area. Bury the stone in the earth. Then walk away without looking back.

Calling a Crystal into Your Life

If you are finding yourself in a position that you are unable to get any crystals or stones, or feeling as if you’d like to bring more into your life, ask the Universe directly. The Universe will then help you connect to the stone that was meant for you!

Here is a good spell to work prior to making online orders for crystals.

You will need.

1 white candle.

Sea salt (the crystalline structure of sea salt adds a magical boost to your intention)

Sprinkle the salt in a circle around the candle while saying: “With this sacred salt of Earth, I ask the right crystal to come into my life.”

Close your eyes and visualize yourself surrounded by beautiful, sparkling crystals of every color. Take a few deep breaths and then light the candle while saying: “It is so. Blessed be.”

Final Thought

This really is just a few things you can do with crystals to help enhance your magic, or intentions. As you grow within your craft, you’ll learn new things, read new books and come up with your own spells. This is a beautiful thing! You will do things intuitively. Trust your intuition, do your research and really enjoy spells!

#crystal magic #crystal spells #rockymountainwitch #rocky mountain witch #rmwitch #magic #spell work #spells #spell craft #witchcraft #witch #wicca #witchy #witch community #pagan #paganism #crystal witch

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waywardimpalawriter · 3 years

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The Bet (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader)

The Bet

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Rating: M (mature) NSFW

Warnings: gambling, teasing, a little bit of spice

Word count: 3,051

Summary: Game night with team Cap turns up unexpected results.

Notes: Written for Writer Wednesday. Thank you for the very lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog

“Hope you’ve all brought a fat wallet tonight,” devilish smirk tipping the corner of her ruby lips upward. “It won’t be that way for long. I plan on parting you from your hard earned cash in spectacular fashion.” Shuffling the deck like a seasoned pro in Vegas and dealing the cards out.

Eyes rolling while sipping your Screw driver, “You gonna talk us to death Romanoff or deal the hand?” Brow lifting, hiding your own smirk behind the high ball glass.

“Just a sore loser Y/N,” blowing you a kiss after finishing the deal. Deck slammed down in the center as everyone grabbing for their cards to look them over.

A few soft groans at the terrible hands dealt, “Your shit at dealing Nat you gave me nothin,” Sam calls from your left between Steve and Wanda.

“Suck it up buttercup you play the hand your dealt,” downing her first shot of vodka. Locking eyes with Steve for a moment, “And watch your mouth…”

“You know what Romanoff that’s getting old,” rolling his green flecked blue eyes, shooting a piece of popcorn towards her head. Only to have it deflected by a quick brush of her hand.

“Children,” fake stern voice utters from beside you long neck meeting those soft lips. Trying very hard not to watch the single drop of condensation slide from bottle to chin, and down the strong expanse of tanned neck. Never being more jealous of a simple drop of water than right now. “Stow the bickering for later in the game when my pile is triple what the rest of yours is.”

A chorus of snorts drown out the music for a moment, “Bucky sweetie in your dreams will that truly happen.” Snarky comment leaves your lips right as Bucky fixes those cerulean eyes on you. Finding it a little difficult to think for a spilt second as you fidget under his heated stare.

“Wanna make a bet?” This time a chorus of groans echo around the table accompanied by head shakes. “It is Wednesday night poker right? Why not make this a little more,” pausing brow lifting giving you a slow perusal his eyes darkening to pitch. “Interesting then just Nat taking our money?”

“Ah you at least acknowledge my superior poker skills good man Barnes,” sassing him with a smirk and the salute of her shot glass. “But I rather not need eye bleach to scrub your naked ass from my memory. Of that I’m sure most around this table would agree.”

Affirmations of the positive echo her words along with chuckles in various lengths. Leaning over while everyone places their bets your turn coming up quickly. “What’s the bet Barnes?”

Maybe its the vodka infused orange juice you’ve been sipping, beer tasting like ass to you. Instead sticking with the harder liquors to pair with the right mix. Drinking isn’t something you’ve done much so maybe it’s having a quicker affect on your system. However, something tells you it has more to do with the man sitting a little too close on your right. Leather and whiskey wrapping around your senes to send tingles across your skin. He’s the reason for your bold question determined to ditch your comfort zone for one night and be a little wild.

Placing a pot bet then turning to watch you do the same, admiring your profile for the moment. Having only admitted to one other person how much he wanted you, Bucky can’t believe you’ve actually asked him for a bet just between the two of you. His mind races with possibilities none more prominent than having you spread out in his bed whimpering his name. Body withering in the pleasure he’s giving you. Your voice bringing him back to the present and trying to clear the lustful thoughts parading through his mind.

“If I win more hands you’ll be mine for the night,” brushing his lips over the shell of your ear pleased smile at hearing the sharp intake of breath from you. Knowing he’s playing with fire at proposing such idea, he could loose his heart to you so quickly and maybe that’s what he wants most. To finally let himself feel something other than pain, anger and remorse. Though that little voice in the back of his mind taunts, you wouldn’t want the ex-assassin with so much blood and death on his hands.

Swallowing harshly you turn to look up into his eyes, “And if I win?” Everyone else disappearing, sounds going mute and all focus is on Bucky. Wishing his winnings wouldn’t be just for a night. That’s right you knew already he’d win since you sucked at poker and only played to hang out with your family instead of just missions and meetings. Happily loosing most Wednesdays just to see the pleased looks on their faces instead of grimaces of pain when patching them up.

“What do you want to win?” Itching to reach out free your bottom lip from being trapped between your teeth and run his thumb over the wet bitten skin.

Throat clearing, to draw both of you back to the game, “You playing or just ogling each other? Either way place your bet or fold so the rest of us can get on with the game Sergeant Frostbite.” Rolling his eyes and downing the last of his beer, Sam stands to get a refill silently asking if anyone else wanted one.

Both of you fold more interested in each other than the usual poker game. Your mind whirling with thoughts, not sure how to answer the bet. Thinking and discarding so many ideas, between asking him to be more careful on missions and to stop baiting Sam with snarky comments and looks. Settling for something your sure would get you into trouble but couldn’t stop yourself.

“Never thought you were that kinky Y/N.” Sweet Sokovian accented voice floats through your mind, head snapping up to look over at a smiling Wanda.

“Your not suppose to be reading minds babe,” for which you get a small shrug and a wicked smile spreading over her lips. Tsking in your head trying to keep from laughing, “Careful I might have to let the mistress of pain know.”

“You wouldn’t? Besides your thoughts were so damn loud I couldn’t help it. I’m surprised the whole table doesn’t hear the both of you,” winking she nods towards Bucky who’s still looking at your expectantly. “Might want to answer Buck before giving him an aneurysm since he’s waiting on bated breath what you’ll ask for.”

Clearing your throat and grabbing up your glass to take a drink, finding Bucky staring. Admiring the way your tongue peeks out to wipe up the left behind bits of orange juice. Shy smile sliding over your lips, eyes darting to the group and finding them arguing over who won the last pot.

“How about a private strip show just for my eyes only Sergeant Barnes?” Nervously swallowing hoping you’ve haven’t asked for too much. But then once would never be enough for you. Needing a repeat performance whenever the mood strikes to accompany being totally wrecked by this man who haunts your dreams.

“Tell him, you’ll be surprised at his answer,” Wanda urges then falls silent as another hand is dealt by Sam this time. She gives you another wink returning her attention to the game.

Biting off the groan of arousal, shifting in his seat to adjust himself and the bite of his jeans against his hardening cock. “I think…” irritated growl leaving his mouth when Sam tossed a balled up napkin at his head. Dead center hit to Bucky’s forehead making everyone cheer around the table. Getting a scowl from the man in question, “What?”

“Your turn Frostbite or have you forgot the game already?” Bitting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the look Bucky sends him. Knowing the shared unrequited feelings you’ve both harbored for each other. “Has old age finally caught up to you old man?”

“I don’t think it’s the age that’s caught up with him Sam,” Steve grins for which Bucky cuts his eyes at his best friend.

“Value your life Rogers and all the secrets I keep about your pre-serum days you’ll keep that mouth shut,” threat empty as everyone knew but Steve still gives him a mock hurt expression.

Hand to his chest, “You won’t buddy?” Seeing the lifted brow cerulean eyes dart towards Nat and back to Steve’s who catches the wordless meaning. “Fuck off jerk.”

“Steven Grant Rogers did you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Natasha exclaimed biting her lip to keep the laughter from rolling out.

“Then keep your mouth shut Steve.” Bucky shot back with a taunting grin spreading across his face at Nat’s words.

Playful gasp leaving your lips, “I never thought I’d hear those kind of words uttered from your good boy lips Steve.”

“Good boy?” Snorting Bucky holds his stomach as a full belly laugh leaves his lips at the very thought. “Doll he’s got you all fooled. Hook lined and reeled in,” glancing at you for a moment then back at Steve. “You gotta quite acting all saintly Steven you’ll never get laid.”

Chocking on his beer, wiping at the mess, while his eyes throw daggers at Bucky. “Keep it up Buck and you’ll find a shield up side your head next mission.”

Peels of laughter sound around the table drowning out the music, a beet red Steve just gapping at his family in fake astonishment. Sam’s slumped forward head resting on his forearms while gruff deep chuckles sound from him. Wanda wide eyed but soft giggles leave her as Natasha full out belly laughs, slamming a hand down on the table. Disturbing the poker chips and cards, glasses and bottles wiggling in there spots. While you’ve managed to pull your phone out and snap a few quiet pictures to save and send Clint. Who’s missing all the action while out on his own mission. Mirth dances in your eyes that lock with Bucky’s. Lips parting on a soft gasp of surprise with how he’s staring at you. Heat flaring to life across your body and you swallow trying to regain some moisture to your parched throat.

Leaning over, “We’ve got a deal doll, prepare to loose though.” Glancing back at the table seeing everyone still recovering from their laughter, Bucky uses that moment to press closer. Placing his slightly chapped lips to your cheek, “If there’s one thing Romanoff got right it’s that I’m a sore looser. I play to win,” dragging those sinful lips away to sit back in his chair. Cards resting now between those large hands.

Hands you wish were somewhere else right this moment, soothing the arch building between your thighs that rub together in the bid to find some kind of friction on your clit. Marveling at how quickly that simple brush of his lips could turn you into a pile of goo in your own seat.

Clearing your throat, “Bring it on Buck this time I may just have a reason to win as many hands as I can.”

Gauntlet tossed down with the raise of his brow. Determination coats your veins especially when he gives you a very heated once over. Scorching your very soul with the intensity making you throb, clit jumping at the very promise those wickedly beautiful eyes held. Watching the way his fingers caress the long neck bottle in his flesh hand. Bringing the brown glass to his lips for a deep drink.

Savoring the taste more than any effects it could have on him. “Careful doll face those who play with fire usually get burned,” eyes lock with yours licking those sinfully plush lips.

Glancing between his lips and eyes, your own smirk tugging your mouth upward. Free hand coming to rest on Bucky’s thigh, the heat of your palm burning his jeans covered skin. Shifting in his seat to relieve the pressure on his cock with the touch of your hand. “Don’t worry none James,” voice a soft purr in his ear. “I have salves of all kinds that’ll take care of a burn. It’s the ache I need taken care of. There’s no medication to take accept my own fingers to help sooth the pressure.” Drawing patterns over his thigh, feeling tension held tightly in those delicious muscles you wouldn’t say no to feeling between your thighs.

A bit shocked with how forward your being. His reactions only spurring on your need to see just how far you could push him before he snaps and finally takes you. Asking yourself for the thousandth time if once would state the desire you have for this man? Wanting to have more than friendship between you though you’d take it and run. But there’s a part of you which wants more, to open your heart and share it with Bucky. You only hope he feels the same way.

For a second Bucky’s mute ignoring the calls from Sam and Steve to stare at you, mouth hanging open. Only to close with a challenge flaring in his cerulean eyes. “You sure about what your offering sweetheart?” Hating to ask but not wanting to miss understand you or the intentions swimming through your mind that he’s not privy to yet.

“As sure as the next breath I’ll be taking,” moving your hand from his thigh to rest on his vibranium forearm. Looking up into his eyes, soft smile gracing your lips that turn into a squeal. Ice sliding down the front of your shirt, cutting your eyes towards the rest of the table all of whom are pretending to not see anything. All except Natasha who’s just giving you a Cheshire Cat grin. Jumping to your feet, shaking your shirt to get the ice out. Only to have it caught in your bra melting against your heated skin, peaking your nipples. Scowling at the red head, “Your dead to me Romanoff,” playfully glaring at her before taking off towards the kitchen.

Not realizing Bucky is following you have your hand down the front of your shirt trying to fish the cube out when he clears his throat. “Need help?” Wicked grin pulling across his lips.

Licking your own at the heat flaring through your body and in his eyes, “It’s a slipper little devil.” Capturing your bottom lip between your teeth and nibbling hard as Bucky steps towards you. Crowding you against the counter, planting his hands on either side of your body.

“Maybe it’ll help if you take off the shirt?” Tugging the black AC/DC shirt twice, flesh hand teasing along your side under the shirt.

Gulping to gather air into your starved lungs, shivering as the ice moves against your skin pebbled nipple starting to tent your bra and t-shirt. Distracting Bucky as his gaze drops and his hand moves upward. Sliding two fingers just under the wire and cup of your bra to snag the cube. Pressing it to your nipple, melting the ice between the heat of his fingers and your body.

“Tell me to stop and I will doll face. I won’t do anything you don’t want,” words puffing from his lips that are just inches from yours.

“You stop and I’ll have to hurt you James,” hissing turned whimper as those talented fingers wrap around your nipple and tug. Desire fogged brain only barely registering your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, embracing his body to pull him closer.

Grinning right behind his mouth claims yours. Desperate and passion fueled, licking his tongue against the seam of your lips. Which open on a gasp Bucky having found the front clasp of your bra and popped it open to cup and massage your breast. Weighting the generous globe before rolling the pebbled nipple between his fingers. Giving a light pinch to gage your reaction. Confirming whimper has an answering growl from deep within his chest. Vibranuim arm tightly wrapping around your waist as you damn near suck his tongue into your mouth tangling together for play and pleasure. Pushing your body into his wanting to mold the two of you together as the kiss turns deeper. Breath becoming an issue and you break part panting to gather in air to your starved lungs.

“Bucky,” whimpering his name, head lolling back to give his questing lips access to the sensitive column of your throat. Swallowing to gather your wits. “James,” you try again running your nails through his hair, scrapping his scalp lightly and pulling a groan from the man against you. “I’m going die if you don’t fuck me James.” Words whimpered from you lips.

“We can’t have that now can we doll?” Dragging his nose up your beautifully scented skin to nip at your earlobe. Hands one warm the other cool cup your ass and lift, your legs wrapping around his trim waist of the own accord.

Pressing his harden cock into your willing core, making you shutter around him at the delicious friction his movements cause. “Don’t you dare tease me James,” burying your lips against his neck to bit down on the strong cords sucking a small mark just south of his thumping pulse.

“Marking me already sweetheart?” Pushing away from the counter to head towards his apartment. Trying to focus on his steps and not how good you feel in his arms. “I wouldn’t dream of teasing you doll but if you keep using that mouth of yours to tempt me I won’t be held accountable for the state your clothes end up in or the fact that the whole compound will hear us.”

Pulling back, hands spread over his neck, fingers tugging at the short strands, “Then you better pick up the pace Sergeant before I have to take matters into my own hands and that would be a shame to take care my own self. Wouldn’t it James?”

“Yes ma’am,” pausing at his door to press you into the hard wall. Rocking into your body so you can feel just what you’ve caused. “Especially when I have just the remedy to sooth that ache you were talking about.”

Poker night was never the same again at least night for you and Bucky.

#Writer Wednesday #Bucky Barnes x F!Reader #Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader #James 'Bucky' Barnes x F!Reader #Marvel Fan Fiction

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auroradivine · 3 years

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Period/Menstural blood work and ritual requires no sacrifice, as it can be taken freely and safely from your own body. If you think it’s dangerous, it is no more or less dangerous than a hammer, a fire or a pen wielded by a lover of words.

Menstrual blood has all the power of blood, and is deeply personal to you. What is more, it has taboo associated with it. Like rootwork and conjure through the ages, menstrual blood is shunned, shamed, hidden away. But, if you menstruate, it is YOUR power.

Blood magic is not, as some seem to believe, inherently its own discipline of magic, as is for instance necromancy, or kitchen witchcraft. Though, certainly one could construct an entire magical practice around the use of blood if one so desired, and I’m certain some people have.

Rather, I approach blood as a tool to be incorporated into spells.

The inclusion of blood in any Work greatly enhances its power. Blood remains always linked to the life from which it comes, and channels the Asè/power of that life force into the Working. It is a direct connection to a living thing. Blood magic is used when you need to infuse your very essence or a small part of your life energy into a spell, if using your blood, or the essence of a particular animal or their life energy. It is one of the most powerful ways you can charge give energy to a spell.

There are three primary ways in which blood may be used, based mostly on the source of the blood. We’re going to focus on our own blood, menstural blood in specific though anybody can do this with any blood from themselves.

Your own blood is obviously the easiest to acquire. Doing so forges a direct and profound connection to the force of your psychic energy. As one of the factors in the effectiveness of a spell is how much energy the caster commits or is able to consciously direct, these spells are far more powerful than others. These spells can be surprisingly draining to the caster. They tap into energy more deeply than most can do by other means, and invest whatever it takes to achieve the goal. I’ve never heard of blood spells taking enough energy to have a detrimental effect on health, but it’s not beyond the realm of possibility. Be prepared to feel exhausted. In fact it may be wise to treat it as one would giving blood. Have something sweet ready to go, at least until you know how you’re going to react to this kind of work.

There is no question in my mind that blood is the most powerful taglock one could possibly use.

It is extremely difficult to defend one’s self against a spell of this sort. The connection tends to bypass most shields and wards. On which note, if you have any reason to believe someone might want to cast a spell against you, take care not to give anyone access to your blood.

COLLECTION METHODS

🔴Menstural cup: the most efficient and easiest way for obvious reason. Now just put it in a container of choice

🔴Tampon: you can use it like a teabag later

🔴Smear method: probably my least fave but you smear it on a plate or some flat surface let it dry and flake it off into a storage container. The pros is that it stores for a long time

🔴 Free bleed: whatever you wanna use just sit on it and let your flow do it’s thing. Best for things that require .fabric

STORAGE/PRESERVATION METHODS

♦️Vodka/Alcohol: My preferred method is vodka/clear alcohol and my preferred brand is Everclear. The higher the proof the better it keeps and can be stored room temp. Plus you have the added benefits spirits being to ritual

♦️Iso Alchohol: same premise as alchohol except it’s isopropyl. Best to use the strongest in this case also.

♦️Straight: if you want it undiluted you can refrigerate up to a week but it will coagulate. Keep a nail in it and swirl everyday to keep coagulation at bay

♦️Freeze: pretty self explanatory 🤗

♦️Water: Just ass water and refrigerate. Can keep about 2 weeks

♦️Dry/smear method: smear that thang on a plate let it try collect the flakes. This has the longest shelf life

Some ways I use my Period to amp my magic

🩸Grounding: I’m sure a lot of you ar where because you saw a post on how I stay grounded if not I do this by pouring my mensural blood upon the earth with my bare feet to the ground. You can pour it in front of you or over your feet. I do both. You can also keep a grounding stone between your feet.

🩸Ink for petitions : Instead of writing with a regular pen I create blood ink with the following recipie (sorry I don’t measure)

-menstural blood

-dragon’s blood resin

-Highest proof vodka you can find preferably 100 proof or better

Grind the resin into a powder, combine with blood and vodka. Let sit until resin dissolved completely. Use for petitions, scribing and any place you would use ink.

🩸Poppet magic: Also known as voodoo dolls I make self love poppets by free bleeding on a red flannel before using for a poppet

🩸Self love/sweet jars: Instead of putting him in a jar put yourself in a jar and love on you

🩸Offering : if I’m asking the universe for anything I offer it with my blood attached

🩸Feeding oil: I create a mixture of my blood oil and herbs that I use to feed the wood of my altar, my lodestones and many other things but mostly for my altar which I feed quarterly.

It is not for me to tell you how to use the power of your period to work spells tricks and rituals. You have your own moral compass. You can use menstrual blood for both light and dark magic. What you do is between you and Uni

Love always,

🌹 Aurora D.

#black spirituality #black girl magic #black witches #african spirituality #voodoo #hoodoo #self love #black witch aesthetic #blood #magic #ritual #period blood #period blood magic #menstrual magic #witchblr #witches of tumblr #rootwork #blood sacrifice

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anobscurename · 4 years

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ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I

concept: this is a collection of happenings, the little moments with him, rather than a whole thought-out fic. the slowest of slow burns. this is the second part, the reunion. this is what happens when the night is over.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2,618

warnings: none, except a little profanity

author’s note: part two is here! i hope you like it :)

The second time you met Chris, was while you were at work. You were a cocktail waitress at a relatively posh, incredibly elite, uptown bar. The kind that charges you way too much for a drink so little, and probably sells diamond infused vodka. This was the night spot of everyone who was anyone – gods that sipped golden champagne from fine, polished Baccarat flutes that were probably worth your house.

You had no problem with rich people. You just had a problem with the way some treated you – and that was to say, not very well.

“Hey.” A male voice startled you out of your near robotic drink making. They were a bit understaffed that night, so you had taken the liberty of helping out behind the bar while the tables in your section remained vacant. You were somewhat of an expert cocktail maker – you could even safely say you could do it blindfolded (an exceptionally wild bachelor’s party provided proof enough). So it wasn’t uncommon for your mind to drift elsewhere while you mixed a drink. You tilted your head slightly in the direction of your co-worker, letting him know you were listening, while still pretending to be way more immersed in your task than you really were. It was that anti-social kind of night, where you’d rather be curled up at home with Netflix and a mug of tea rather than be there (despite being fully aware of how many girls would kill to have entry to the most exclusive club in Los Angeles). But the pay was good – excellent, actually – and you did get some really nice patrons at times. And your co-workers? They weren’t half bad, either. “There’s a table that just sat down in your station.”

You swore under your breath, finished mixing the drink with a sped efficiency, and handed it off to the patron. “Your station” was the VIP section, and was rarely very busy so early in the evening. You knew club routine well enough by now: pre-drinks before the party were often done at home, in the limos, or in a relatively tame bar somewhere nearby. This was for the pleasantries, the catching up, the conversations that would inevitably be drowned out by the pounding music if done anywhere else. That usually occurred around this time. This club – and many like it – the kind that was where everyone who was anyone had to be seen at – was the second phase. The party phase. The phase where most of the time, drama, and scandal, took place. This was often from 10pm till 4am, depending on the stamina of the party goers. And then the wind down: after parties, often held at someone’s house. This was the natural order of the night world, and you respected people who respected that. You modelled your entire schedule around that.

That’s why you had assumed that your station would’ve been empty until much later – until after pre-drinks and conversations. Whoever just sat down in VIP – they were disturbing the natural fucking order, and you were not having it. Well, you were silently not having it; you still needed, like, money.

Your job didn’t come without it’s perks, though. A murder of stunning people were sat on the plush leather couches surrounding black marble topped tables behind the velvet chain that separated them from the masses. Some you recognised instantly from the big screen, and others from the tabloids. And one from a personal encounter… Your breath caught and you damn near choked.

There he was, reclined on the couch, so at ease with his arms spread over the back, grinning and laughing at something someone had said. He wasn’t looking at you. Yet. That changed abruptly, as soon as you (after having gathered your confidence) introduced yourself to them.

He faltered slightly in his laugh, but his grin remained – growing even wider, as slowly, he tilted his head to look over at you.

Immediately his eyes brightened. If there was any doubt in your mind as to whether or not it was really him, it dissipated with that single nod of recognition he gave you.

You cleared your throat as a small diversion to clear your head. “Are you ready to order?”

They rattled off their orders, almost all of them barely paying any attention to your silent exchange with Chris. Almost.

A (begrudgingly) stunning female on Chris left, who was pressed eagerly into his side, gave you a dirty once over and sneered out her order to you. Oh. She was one of those. The ones who looked down at literally anyone not a billionaire.

He noticed her disdain, and his grin fell. A small victory, he revoked his arm from around her – bemused by her display of deluded superiority. You had to physically hide your smirk as you got the last order – his – and slipped behind the bar with the orders engraved in your mind.

——————

The group departed after about two hours. Two hours of eyeing the table (mainly to check if their glasses were still full, or if they needed anything else – or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself), two hours of stolen glances – ones that you were always the first to pull away from, usually after the inevitable smirk that touched his lips when you looked for a bit longer than you should.

When they left, you cleaned the table. Who was he? He seemed to have friends in high places, but there was something else… You knew, when you first met him, that you knew his face. Ugh, that itch was back – the one in the brain where you know you know something but it’s evading your every grasp – and it was refusing to go away. Like an earworm of a melody, lyrics forgotten.

It plagued you for the remainder of your shift – which wasn’t necessarily long, just an hour or so more – and even as you got ready to go home.

It was approaching peak hours now, and so you knew the front would be bustling with paps and desperate social climbers begging for entrance from the surly bouncers, who stood as monoliths in churning seas. Because with peak hours, came the rich and famous; socialites, actors, singers, designers, models. And with them, the gods of the nightlife, came the screaming hordes.

God, you were dramatic. You smirked to yourself, at the internal monologue you were maintaining, as you punched in the code to slip out the back. Anything to keep a scrap of sanity in these long nights. So wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice him following you until he laid a scopic hand on your shoulder.

You whirled, shoving him against a wall, knee approaching dangerously close to his crotch before you mercifully faltered at the familiar face.

“Chris?!” You were breathless with exhilaration, adrenaline thick in your veins at having been caught off guard. You released him, stepping away to run your hand through your hair to brush it away from your face. “What are you doing, hiding in a back alley, trying to catch unsuspecting girls off guard?!”

He chuckled at your scolding tone, at the way you pressed a hand to your beating heart, over the top dramatism at play in your actions. “Trying to catch an unsuspecting girl off guard. Obviously.”

You realised then how strange it was for him to still be here; his party departed at least an hour and a half ago. “Did you wait out here for me?”

“Can you promise not to kick me in the balls if I said yes?”

You laughed as he cautiously eyed your legs at his sentiment. “So, what, you’re following me now?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m not the one who waited an hour for someone, out in a back alley, in the freezing cold.” To punctuate your point, a cold blast of wind ripped through the alleyway, worming its way under your coat to stroke at your skin with cold tendrils. You shivered, crossing your arms to preserve the warmth. “You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

He patted down his pockets. “Ah, shit. Must’ve left my axe at home.” His tone was dead serious, but at your roll of the eyes, he grinned.

You buried your hands in your pocket to stave off the chill. Weirdly enough, after the initial shock, you were glad to have someone with you to walk with you to your car, parked three blocks away to make room for the patrons’ stretch limousines. You inclined your head in the direction of your vehicle, nodding for him to walk with you.

He smiled softly, following you out of the dim lighting of the alleyway, into the lights of the main road. The clamour outside of the club was a roar, the leering of the paps at the celebrities who entered becoming a jumble of white noise.

You noticed how, as soon as you both approached the light, he ducked his head and upturned the collar of his jacket, avoiding the peoples’ attentative eye. You both pushed by relatively unnoticed, and you only spoke again when the bellowing crowd was a distant memory.

“So, who are you?”

The question took him by surprise. The action of lighting the cigarette he had propped between his lips stuttered, and he gave you an apprehensive look. He struck the match he had poised in his hand, looking down to watch where the flame licked. “You know who I am.”

“You just sat where Justin Bieber sat. I served drinks to the Kardashians on that couch. Only the VIPs of VIPs sit there. So, are you famous or something?”

Shaking the match out, he took a drag – prolonging his answer as long as he possibly could. He deliberated you, wondering what your reaction would be. Would you treat him differently, now? “Or something.”

You eyed him up, skeptical, before breaking into a massive grin. “Cool,” you said non-chalantly. Or at least in your head. What you really said was: “I fucking knew I wasn’t losing my mind! I fucking knew it, Mr I-Just-Have-One-Of-Those-Faces. Oh my God, I’m not crazy, fuck yes!”

The look he gave you negated that entirely, because indeed, he was looking at you as if you were a mad woman, in spite of the amused twist of his lips. “Are you done?”

After a moment of appraising him, you nodded, calm again. “Yeah, I’m done.”

You were less excited that you were in the presence of celebrity royalty, more relieved that you weren’t insane for feeling he was so familiar. That was refreshing for Chris; usually after someone discovered his identity, they would treat him differently – sidling up to him, for a favour or money or status or cloning DNA. Or for workout tips, but he got that regularly. Barring the brief moment of unhinged happiness you displayed, you treated him as you did before. Like when he stole your cab.

“Andy Barber!” You had started walking again, him alongside you, in a pleasant silence. Your outburst caused both of you to pause again. “Ransom Drysdale? Steve Rogers…”

He arched a brow in question, taking a pensive drag from his cigarette. “Are you having a stroke?”

“That’s where I recognise you from.” Mumbling to yourself, you muttered “God, I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

He chuckled, flicking the ash off his cigarette, both of you continuing on in a comfortable silence.

“So, what did I do to deserve the chance at having you escort me to my car?”

He stomped out the cigarette, smoke curling from his lips as he tried to find the best way to word his question. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, you can proposition my fist to your face,” you chuckled in disbelief. “Just because you’re all high and mighty and famous doesn’t mean that every girl you meet is going to throw themselves at your feet even if you did buy me pizza and you’re all smug and handsome and have impeccable dress sense like, seriously, what is that? Armani? What? Why are you laughing at me?”

He had started laughing sometime during your rant and the sound, contagious and warm, had caused you to falter. You fought a smile that was threatening to rise. You were trying to make a point, goddamnit, and you would be damned if he was going to ruin it with his smug, handsome face.

“A business proposition, {your name},” he managed to say among the peels of laughter. “But please, do go on my impeccable dress sense.”

You were mortified. You probably sounded proper arrogant, thinking that he wanted to get in your pants. You groaned, hiding your face in your hands for a moment to conceal the fast rising heated flush of embarrassment. Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let him know. Thanks, Elsa.

“What, uh,” you cleared your throat, turning away to continue your stalling trek (and to avoid his gaze). “What business proposition?”

“Do you like dogs?”

You ignored how laugh-drunk his voice sounded – gravelly and lilted with amusement. It just served to feed your embarrassment further. “Love them. Why?”

Now it was his turn to clear his throat. “I recently, uh, split up with my girlfriend and I’m heading to Vancouver for a few months for a film. She was meant to help look after Dodger and the house while I was gone, but, given the recent change in plans, that would appear to no longer be an option.”

He avoided your gaze as you glanced over at him, but you could see the throb of the muscle in his jaw, indicating the grit of his teeth.

“And you have deemed me worthy?” You tried lightening the mood a little, and was satisfied by his small smile and accompanying chuckle.

“I know it’s too much to ask of a stranger–”

“Why don’t you get a friend to do it?”

“I would, if any were deemed worthy,” he teased. Warmth swelled in his eyes when he looked at you next, and paired with that smile and the words he spoke next, you knew you would do anything he asked. “And I am asking a friend.”

A beat passed. “Fine. I’ll live in your stupid mansion and look after your stupid dog. Okay, I didn’t mean that last bit, I’m sure Dodger is lovely, but I’ll have you know: I don’t come cheap.”

“What, living in my mansion isn’t good enough?”

“Fuck no! I still need to feed the dog, clean up after it, clean the house, have money on hand for damages in case I get too wild by myself… There’s a long, fucking list.”

“I’m sure we can make an arrangement,” he smirked.

You shivered slightly at the double entendres laced in his words; good thing it was cold, so you could easily excuse it.

“What makes you think I’ll say yes?” You tip your head in the direction of the club from which you were making your slow escape. “They pay well, a lot better than house sitting.”

“Are you happy there?”

You balked at his question. “The money is good–”

“I wasn’t asking about the money, I was asking if you were happy.” He arched a brow, something close to concern crossing his face.

“I–”

He cocked his head, waiting for an answer. You knew you couldn’t lie to him.

“No, not really. Some people are real assholes, especially when drunk.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll come work for me.”

“Woah, hey now. I can’t just… Uproot my life and live with you. For starters, I have a lease and stuff. And I have a life, a job, a–”

“I have an adorable mixed boxer and a Jacuzzi.”

“When do I start?”

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans/you #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans/reader #chris evans fluff #dina writes #when the night is over #ocean eyes #part two

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tellmealovestory · 4 years

Text

That Summer (1/?)

Summary: You’ve spent every summer since you were a child in the idyllic beach town you call home three months out of the year. This summer should be no different except for the addition of Bucky Barnes. Sparks fly upon first meeting, but it’s only a summer fling, right? Modern AU.

Notes: Also posted on my ao3. The beautiful divider I used is from @whimsicalrogers

Warnings: Surprisingly no swear words and a very brief mention of sexy times.

Mosquitos battled with the scratchy blanket beneath your body in a fight over who could do more damage to your sensitive skin. So far it was a tie. Music drifted out of your car speakers, a bouncy pop song, something meant for being blared at top decibels in a darkened club, sweaty bodies moving together, colorful drinks filled to the brim of expensive glasses. Not something for laying in a field an hour outside of the city stargazing.

It was a warm night, a promise of what was to come as summer began its lazy descent. Summer. Just the word always conjured long days, lazy nights, uniforms of shorts and tank tops, bare feet. Frozen slushees from the local convenience store staining lips and teeth and tongues blues and reds and purples, bags of potato chips and handfuls of candy bars. Windows rolled down, music turned all the way up, singing off key to lyrics that seemed as if they were written for you and only you as you drove aimlessly through the city before venturing onto the back roads that would take you far from the bright lights and the familiarity of your life to somewhere else.

The crinkle of a candy wrapper being balled up, the obnoxious slurp of a straw searching for the last remnants of a cherry slushee mixed with vodka had your teeth grinding in annoyance at your sometimes friend sprawled out next to you on the blanket.

“This is your last night here and this is how you choose to spend it?”

You didn’t have to take your eyes off of the stars shining and twinkling above you, winking like they held secrets, like they knew what the future, more specifically what this summer would hold for you to know she was rolling her eyes at you.

And while you tried to tell yourself you didn’t care her tone still stung.

“You didn’t have to come,” you pointed out, leaving out the part about how she only came because her sometimes boyfriend ditched her again. “And it’s not like I’m not coming back. It’s only for the summer, remember?”

“Whatever. Have fun with your summer friends,” she sneered, tone icy, piercing straight through the warmth in your chest.

It was harder this time to hide the physical way her words stung. Flinching you inched away from her on the blanket. You weren’t a mean person, but you still thought about getting in your car and abandoning her here.

Ignoring her huffed sighs, the slurp of the straw, the way she boldly reached across you grabbing your plastic cup still half full with the blue raspberry slushee you kept your gaze focused on the sky above you.

A bright streak danced across the sky, so quick if you had blinked one second sooner, if you had turned your head away from the sky you would have missed it. Your heart sped up at the sight, awe and doubt mixing in your mind. Blindly grabbing for your friends arm you excitedly pointed at the sky, blabbering about the shooting star.

Obsessed since you had learned about them in school books had been consumed, online articles inhaled, paintings painted, stories written, but you had never expected to see one.

In the blink of an eye it was gone and you were left wondering if you had seen its beauty at all.

Closing your eyes you inhaled damp grass, the alcohol infused breath of your sometimes friend, the sugary sweet slushees, the salty potato chips that swirled around you and made a wish on the brightly burning shooting star that had streaked across the sky for that one glorious brief moment.

I wish to fall in love this summer.

“You’re not mad are you?”

Your eyes were glued to the scenery that shot past your windows. The large mansions that sat dotted on the beach before giving way to gift shops and tourists traps. The ocean that glittered and shined when the bright sun hit it. The sand that had you itching to beg Wanda to pull the car over so you could run through the burning heat before dipping your feet into the still cold ocean water. Tires hummed on the road, salty ocean air inhaled, wind rustling against your hair and ruffling your shirt.

After stepping off the plane, smile on your face, sweat soaking through your shirt at the heat that hit you as soon as you had stepped out of the air conditioned terminal you had run straight into your best friends arms squealing like preteen girls at a boy band concert.

The conversation had flowed easily with her pointing out the new shops, restaurants, the gossip you had missed out on when you had left at the end of last summer. It wasn’t until the conversation had drifted to the evenings plans that it began to stall.

Your first night back had always been a girls night with take out food, homemade desserts you had brought with you, bottles of soda when you were younger that turned into shared bottles of wine, trashy television shows as you caught up with each other’s lives in person instead of over texts and skype.

This year however plans had changed.

“I’m not mad.” It was hard to be mad when you would be spending the next three months in paradise, but you were disappointed.

You had always looked forward to the first night together to unwind, to catch up, but now you were going to be spending it with their friends feeling like the awkward out of towner struggling to keep up with their inside jokes, their familiar banter.

Tearing your gaze away from the scenery you turned your attention to Wanda offering her a small smile. It was only one night.

“It’ll be fun!” Wanda chirped.

Showered, fresh faced, damp haired, bags piled high on your bed in Wanda’s spare room a quick girls night had commenced with Natasha. Gossiping over chips and dip the three of you had made plans for the summer before piling into the car heading to the party.

Christmas lights were strung throughout the house and on the back porch leading the place to have a whimsical feel. When they had told you a party you had been expecting wall to wall people, red solo cups, couples making out, drunk people stumbling and laughing.

What greeted you instead were motorcycles parked in the driveway, along the tree lined streets. Loud music spilled from the peach two story house. A few people stood outside, bottles of beer held between fingers, thumbs furiously scrolling through phones, leather jackets adorning shoulders despite the oppressive heat.

Everybody seemed to know who Natasha and Wanda were. It was impossible to take two steps without someone coming up to say hey. Introductions were made, but the more people you met the more the names and faces blurred together.

Ending up in the kitchen leaning against the counter, a bottle of warm beer pressed into your hand your eyes swept over the small crowd that clustered around the keg. More leather jackets placed on shoulders, animated conversations swirling around you, cigarette tips burning bright orange, smoke exhaled leading the kitchen to be filled with a hazy fog that made your head ache with fatigue.

Weight shifting from foot to foot, beer bottle sweating with condensation in your hand, strangers nodding in your direction in lieu of hellos. You were used to standing on the sidelines, watching everything and everybody with a keen eye, but it didn’t make it any less lonely.

Pushing through the scattered bodies of the kitchen you slid open the patio door inhaling the pine trees that surrounded the back yard, the salty ocean air that could be faintly smelled in the distance. The night air was muggy, the sky dark, the stars twinkling and as you stumbled to the railing you closed your eyes willing the fresh air and the stars to ease your loneliness.

“Careful there.”

Your body froze at the husky voice that dared to break your peaceful solitude. Shoulders tensed you exhaled, slowly opening your eyes to see a tall man, dark hair pulled into a man bun, cigarette dangling from kissable lips. He was beautiful standing there in the glow of the Christmas lights that were strung along the railing.

Convinced he was talking to someone else you turned your head, gaze inspecting the patio, the yard, but it was just you and the dark haired stranger.

A long drag off the cigarette, a quirk of an eyebrow and he was speaking again, voice low and gravelly. “You good?”

“Uh yup, yeah, great, thanks,” you rambled, loosening your hold on the railing. Worried that he’d think you were drunk you whirled around to face him, watching the way his beefy body leaned against the porch railing a few feet away from you. Caring what people thought about you, trying too hard to make everyone happy around you were were faults you had yet to overcome. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know him you still found yourself, to your horror, blurting out, “I’m not drunk!”

Exhaling a stream of smoke he stubbed out his cigarette. “Never thought you were.” His lips tilted upwards, a ghost of a smile on his face, a wisp of hair falling from his bun and framing his face.

“Right,” you said slowly. Shifting your weight from foot to foot you cleared your throat determined to start over on a better note. “I just... my friends left me alone for a couple minutes and I guess I sort of panicked and needed some fresh air and I didn’t know you were out here and... you’re laughing.”

It was rich, the kind of laugh a person could fall in love with. Throaty and hoarse like he had used his voice up on talking all day though you suspected it had more to do with the cigarettes. So far he appeared to be a man of few words.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

The only thing better than his laugh was the way he stepped closer, the floorboards of the porch creaking beneath his clunky black boots as he closed the gap of space between your bodies.

Up close he was even more striking. Sculpted jaw, cheeks painted the lightest shade of pink that reminded you of spring roses, eyes so bright they rivaled the color of the ocean. Tight black tee shirt that you hinted at the built body beneath it, black leather jacket that matched the other ones inside of the house. Blue jeans that you somehow knew hid a perfect ass.

It was impossible to take your eyes off of him, but the feeling appeared mutual as his eyes lingered on your hair, your makeup free face, the thin strapped summer dress you had thrown on with a pair of sandals.

Had it been any other man standing before you, stare lingering you would have felt self-conscious, would have crossed your arms over your chest and cleared your throat before politely making an excuse and scurrying away.

It was reckless and dangerous. You didn’t know him, but instead of being put off by his staring you felt strangely... okay with it. You didn’t know him, had never seen him during any of your previous summer visits, but there was something familiar about him tugging at your heartstrings as if you already knew him, as if you guys had known each other your whole lives. It was a feeling you had never experienced before. You didn’t even know his name, but you couldn’t help feeling that this man was somehow going to be important to you.

Maybe it was jet lag, too much cigarette smoke, thrown off your usual first day rituals, but being in his presence made you feel alive, made you feel like you could truly be yourself. You didn’t have to be the perky, can fix anything, people pleaser that made you a such a good fit working at your moms wedding planner company. And you didn’t have to be the awkward fly on the wall third or fifth wheel when out with your friends. You felt like you could be yourself, whoever that was and it was freeing.

Inhaling the muggy night air you met his gaze. It was electric, inviting and you found yourself wanting to plop down on a lawn chair and spill to him all your secrets.

“Can we start over? I’m Y/N.”

“Bucky.”

Cheers erupted from inside the kitchen, but neither of you turned to look. In a matter of minutes the party was forgotten and you were fine with that.

“You new in town?”

“It’s that obvious?”

There it was, that smirk again, gentle lift of his shoulder in a shrug, another piece of hair escaping his man bun. In a way you supposed it was obvious. It seemed as if everyone at the party were wearing leather jackets with the words Howling Commandos stitched on the back and everyone had known who Natasha and Wanda were.

“Small town,” he said. “I know most of the people here, but you I don’t know.”

“Not true. I introduced myself before,” you quipped, feeling a sense of pride when he let out another throaty laugh. “Are you the welcoming committee in town? Cause if you are I gotta say you’re not doing too good of a job hiding out here.”

His laughter filled the porch and in that instant you knew you’d do anything to hear it again and again. It was so warm like feeling the sun on your bare skin the first time after the end of a long winter.

“Maybe I was monitoring the situation out here. Gotta make sure no one comes barreling out and runs into the railing. Don’t want anyone getting hurt on my watch.” His eyes drank you in slowly, a smile cracking through his smirk waiting to see your reaction.

Biting back a laugh you shook your head at the banter feeling both out of your element, but somehow so at ease. “I’d say you need a little more work.”

“You do, huh? I dunno I thought my methods worked. Got you to stop didn’t it?”

“Total fluke.”

“You sure about that, Y/N?”

The way he said your name had your heart beating straight out of your chest. He said it slowly, letting it roll across his tongue, confidently as if he was used to chatting up girls, making them feel special for a night or two. His hand moved to the railing, his pinky finger nudging yours. It was a light touch, barely a touch at that, but the electric sparks it was emitting had you itching to grab him by the collar of his leather jacket and kiss him.

Consumed by the way his barely there touch had you feeling you didn’t notice at first the way he had stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the smoke from his earlier cigarette, the beer that he must have been drinking mixed with something woodsier. Your favorite scent had always been coconut, but now... now it was whatever was wafting off of him.

“So you know why I was out here, but why are you out here?” You asked softly, not wanting to speak too loudly and break the spell. Your gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips and back. His gaze followed suit.

“Told you why I was out here,” he murmured, voice just as low, fingers ghosting over your hand, circling your wrist.

Your eyes darted down to watch the way his long fingers danced over your bracelet. Resisting the urge to close your eyes at the relaxing touches you flinched when the patio door slid open, loud music spilling out, louder voices shouting in the distance, a drunken couple stumbling out the doors, lips attached, hands roaming.

“That’s why I’m out here,” he grumbled.

His words could have been referring to anything, but when his head turned to stare disdainfully at the couple tearing each other’s clothes off oblivious to their surroundings you murmured an ah understanding.

“Should we...?” You asked, words trailing off when the woman let out an embarrassingly loud moan that rivaled that of a pornstars.

“C’mon.” His large fingers circled your wrist giving it a gentle tug.

You didn’t know him, but that didn’t stop you from following his lead as he led you down the patio steps and around the house to the front yard. The grass was cool when it rubbed against your ankles, laughter and bottles mixing and clinking together could be heard drifting from the open windows. The moon was only a crescent, but it somehow seemed to shine brighter out here than it did back home.

The front of the house was empty, but the line of motorcycles still lingered. Leading you to the front porch steps he sat down, gesturing for you to do the same.

“I’m disappointed, Bucky.” Turning your head to the side you caught a flicker of that beautiful smile that laced his lips and your only hope was that with your next set of words you could coax out another hearty laugh.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“As head of the welcoming committee in town you really should have welcomed them instead of running away.”

Bursting into laughter at the groan he let loose you nudged his shoulder trying hard to settle the way your heart sped up at the contact.

“Stick around long enough and you’ll be seeing more of them than you ever wanted to.”

“I feel like there’s a story behind that.”

“Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime.”

“Maybe I’d like that.”

A motorcycle roared to life before racing off down the street. A group of guys carrying cases of beers stepped around you and Bucky entering the house, their raucous and drunken laughter filling your ears. The moon subtly shifted its position in the sky. But through it all, the distractions that flitted around you urging your attention elsewhere your focus never left each other’s eyes as if you were magnets drawn to each other and in a way you supposed that was true.

“Bucky!”

The voice was impatient as if they had been trying to grab his attention for awhile now. The spell you had fallen under was broken. A muttered curse word under his breath, a thin line of his lips, his head tilting to the side glaring at the man who had interrupted him, another piece of hair slipping from his bun.

For a minute no words were spoken and you felt caught in the middle, torn between ushering him towards the man calling his name and staying out of it.

“When you get done making googly eyes at your girl over there we could use your help in here, man.”

Staring down at your lap you tried to hide your smile at the way he had referred to you as his girl. You barely knew Bucky, certainly didn’t know his friend, but that didn’t stop the pattering of your heart or stretched smile.

“Sounds serious,” you commented, eyes lifting up to his.

“Probably a fight,” he muttered. Running a hand through his hair he heaved a sigh. The reluctance to leave was written across his face and you were pleased that the feeling was mutual.

“You should go. You know make sure nobody’s barreled through the railing out back,” you teased. The last thing you wanted was for him to leave, but it was the right thing to do. Even so that didn’t stop the stinging in your chest or the worries that this would be it, the first and the last time you saw him.

Standing up he exhaled a slow stream of breath. “Yeah,” he murmured lowly, more to himself than to you as if he had to talk himself into leaving.

Still, he didn’t make a move to leave. It was only when that impatient voice yelled for him again did Bucky yell back that he was coming.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

It wasn’t what you had been hoping for. You had hoped he’d ask for you number, maybe ask if he could see you again. Swallowing your disappointment you painted a smile on your face.

“It’s a small town, right?” You called out to him.

His smile was bright, lighting up the front porch steps. His laugh was rich, sending your heart racing. And when you turned around to get a final look at him your heart almost burst out of your chest when you saw him watching you too before he disappeared into the house.

“Wow,” Natasha smirked, arm looped through Wanda’s they strolled down the front steps coming to a stop where Bucky had been only moments before. “For someone who wasn’t excited about the party looks like you were enjoying yourself quite a bit.”

Keeping quiet for a second you struggled to gather your thoughts as Wanda looped her arm through yours and you began an unsteady walk back to the car. Choosing your words carefully you said, “It was... better than I expected it was going to be.”

Most of your experience with parties involved attending wedding receptions and those weren’t for enjoyment, those were part of your job working quickly to settle feuding family members, making sure to hand out coffee to the people toeing the line of tipsiness and embarrassingly drunk. In high school you had only ever gone to a couple parties too worried about your classmates would think of you to ever truly let loose.

“You should have given him your phone number,” Wanda said. Unlocking the car and unlocking your arms you slid into the backseat your head resting against the headrest, your fingers pushing the button that lowered the window.

“All done.” Natasha’s smirk was wide as she stared at you in the rear view mirror before starting the car.

“Natasha!” You yelped. “You can’t just give guys my number and don’t you think if he wanted it he would have asked?”

The radio blared to life as the car started, a semi familiar song blasting from the speakers, tires thrummed on the road, the mugginess of the night rushing in through the open windows.

Wanda reached forward to turn the volume down, but Natasha swatted her hand away. Their laughter mixed with the pumping bass flowed to the back seat where you smiled softly at them though they couldn’t see you.

“He was going to. I’m sure of it,” Wanda said. Twisting in her seat to face you her expression was open, tone confident and despite your own doubts about his intentions or lack there of you believed her.

Closing your eyes you let the music wash over you, your mind replaying the nights events over and over again.

Tags;

@nacho-bucky

@redhairedfeistynerd

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #my writing

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elminx · 2 years

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Cranberry Lemondrop Martinis: A Holiday Potions to Cleanse & Protect

The more that I explore botanicals and how they relate to witchcraft, the more convinced I am in consuming my magic. Sure, a good candle spell will solve a lot of problems but candle magic takes time. A candle spell can take weeks, months, or even occasionally years (yikes!) to manifest. When you need magic to take effect immediately - eating it is where it's at. You are literally putting the magic into your body where it will fuse with your essence as it passes through your digestion system.

With a little bit of time and some fresh ingredients, it's easy to make a seasonal cocktail that you can share at holiday gatherings (or keep to yourself!) that most people will love.

This week I crafted a Cranberry and Lemondrop Martini to Cleanse and Protect my loved ones over the holiday season. The ingredients are simple: Fresh Lemon, Fresh Cranberries, Sugar, and Gin or Vodka. The lemons act as our cleansing ingredient, the cranberries as our protection, sugar sweetens, and the spirits are just that - spirits. I personally prefer to use gin in this recipe for the added protection that Juniper provides (and because gin is super tasty) but vodka will suffice if you're not a gin drinker.

The freshness of your botanicals is of utmost importance here - bottled lemon juice will not do for this cocktail. Take the time to make all of the individual parts of this recipe - this is where the magic lies.

Cocktail Ingredients: (makes one cocktail)

2 ounces Gin or Vodka 1 ounce fresh-squeezed Lemon Juice 3/4 ounce Cranberry Simple Syrup* Place all ingredients in a shaker with ice - shake vigorously focusing on your intention to cleanse and protect all who drink your potion - this is where the magic is DO NOT SKIP THIS STEP. Serve in a martini glass with cranberry for garnish.

Note: This is a well-balanced and complex cocktail. If you'd like it to be sweeter, increase the simple syrup, if you'd like it to be more tart, decrease the simple syrup. You could make this into a punch by adding sparkling water or more like a French-75 adding to a flute and topping with champagne.

Cranberry Simple Syrup Ingredients*:

2.5 cups fresh cranberries 1 cup white sugar 1 cup water

Combine ingredients in a small pot, bring to a boil. Reduce heat and let simmer for 10 minutes while focusing on your intention of infusing the cranberries with protective energy. When cooled, strain. Simple Syrup will keep in the fridge for about 1 month. You can keep the cranberry compote left behind to use in your cocktails or eat it - it's slightly tart and quite tasty!

Do you like my work? You can support me by Buying Me A Ko-Fi or by purchasing a Natal Chart Reading.

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ilguna · 4 years

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Metanoia - Chapter Eighteen (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 2.4k

Warnings; swearing, meanery

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

You pace in front of the windows, staring out into the city. Every now and then, you’ll stop because you forget what you were doing, but then you quickly make up for the lost time.

There’s nothing really peculiar about the city that you’re looking at. Just staring at the Capitol is enough to make you blank out.. With how their buildings are shaped, placed and constantly refurbished. You’d think that they would be done at some point, but they’re always implementing their newest technology.

Take the whole Tribute Center as an example.

You pause your movement again, placing your hand on the glass as you stare at the building. It’s the tallest, in the heart of the city. And it holds nothing but grievances. You wonder if Coin will bother to burn it down, or if she’ll keep it.

If she doesn’t burn it down, you will. Right along with all the other apartment complexes and houses that discomfort you. You’ll make the Capitol your home, one way or another. It all starts with getting rid of all those places that you’d had to visit in your teen years.

How will arson be for refurbishing?

“Miss Rosecelli, you can sit--”

You look over your shoulder at Coin, who’s staring right at you. The two of you take a moment, and there must be something about your emotionless gaze that makes her drop it. Because her eyes drift downwards, and eventually away from you.

“She’s just nervous about the conversation she’ll be having with Finnick later today.” Johanna says, clicking a pen on the table, “About whether or not they’re gonna be a couple.”

Peeta looks at Johanna, you roll your eyes, Annie shifts uncomfortably in her chair.

You cross your arms, pursing your lips, “You’re a fucking bitch.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Johanna mutters.

“I could, but Finnick isn’t here to strap you down like last time.”

“That’s really rich, coming from the person who lost it on a peacekeeper.” Johanna snorts.

“Maybe that’s enough.” Haymitch says.

“Maybe?” you ask, turning around to see Johanna. Your face puckers up when you realize her back is to you, and taking the opportunity of a lifetime, in one swift motion you slap the back of her head on your way to your seat, at the other end of the table.

“You fucking--” her chair teeters from how hard she’s gotten up.

The door opens, and you look up to see that it’s Finnick.

“Good.” Peeta says, “Control your mutts.”

You turn a harsh eye to Peeta next, since you haven’t even passed him yet. And with the maturity of a middle schooler, you crack your knuckles right in his face.

“That’s fucking hilarious, considering you’re a Capitol bitch, yourself.”

Haymitch has had enough, and he doesn’t wait to see what Peeta does. He reaches over with one arm, yanking you away from the end of the table that you’re not welcome on anymore, considering the people. Johanna, Annie and Peeta. The only reason why you belong on the other side is because Beetee tolerates you and Haymitch doesn’t give a shit.

Or so you thought.

“Knock it off.” he warns.

“Go back to drinking your vodka-infused tea.” you hiss, going for the chair next to Peeta.

“What did I walk in on?” Finnick asks.

“A war zone, apparently.” Beetee has his glasses in hand, he rubs his face tiredly.

Finnick looks at you for a real answer, “What happened?”

“Johanna.” is all you answer, yanking out the chair as you sit on it.

“All I said was--” Johanna’s batting her eyelashes innocently.

“No one gives a shit about what you said.” you cut her off, “Shut the fuck up already.”

She clenches her jaw, giving you a nasty look. However, she doesn’t bother trying again. Finnick just places his hand on the back of your chair, and begins to talk to Peeta as if you didn’t just say the shit you did to any of them.

You cross your legs, and then your arms as you sink in your chair. You bite the inside of your lip and cheek, trying not to say anything that might get you in a deeper hole than you already are.

Although, it’s not like you’ll have to speak to any of the morons ever again after this. This meeting was required, Coin will crown herself as the next dictator later this evening, and then you’re free to choose a place to live. Beetee will likely stay in the Capitol--as for all the others, they’ll likely scatter.

Except for Finnick. He’s going to negotiate an agreement with you.

You told him simply; either you’re living in the Capitol with the rest of the circus, or you’re living so far off the grid that they’ll have to hunt you down for months just to find you.

And Finnick wants to live back in District Four. It’s where he was raised, and he finds comfort there. You can’t really blame him for it. You’d be going for District two, yourself if it weren’t for everything that has happened there. Victor’s village is a ghost town, and you found out the other day that not only are you the only surviving victor from two--your childhood home was burnt down.

So, if you go back to District Two, you’ll have to deal with the reconstruction of the main town, and buy yourself a freshly painted, picket-white-fence house. Or you can go to your fucking victor house that reeks like rotten food and spoiled milk.

However, if you don’t choose there, you can certainly start all the fucking way over in the Capitol. The only thing that would even slightly suggest your background are those apartment complexes. And the more you think about it, the more you’re beginning to consider burning them down.

Of course, you can’t touch the mansion. But everything else can go. They’re not a vital part of your history, and they certainly don’t deserve to continue to stand anymore.

As you’re staring around the room, Johanna catches your eye again because she’s staring straight at you. You’re about to roll your eyes and look away, but she mouths something.

Your eyes narrow, “Say it aloud.”

Finnick’s words falter and he looks down at you, “What?”

You ignore him, “Go on, say it Johanna.”

“What? Can’t read lips?” Johanna says.

“You’re a pussy.” you tell her, “If you can’t say it out loud, you’re a fucking pussy.”

“Is that right?” she grins.

You sneer, “You can enjoy yourself now, but the moment we leave the room, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

She snorts, “Yeah, right.”

You stand, slamming your hands against the table as you lean forward, “You want to see me actually lose it? Because this time I’ll do a lot more than smash your head against a fucking rock!”

“(Y/n).” Coin’s looking at you with wide eyes, “For your sake, I hope that’s an empty threat.”

“It wasn’t.” Finnick tells her, and then his attention is turned, “If you think that I’m going to stop her, you’re wrong.”

“It’s cute how you pretend to care about her, when she clearly doesn’t care about you.”

“Say that to all the times she saved my life on the way here.” Finnick tells her, “Sit, (Y/n), please.”

“I swear to god, Johanna. Say shit one more time and I’ll settle for killing you in here.” you sit back in the chair, elbows on the table as you clench and unclench your hand.

Right after, the door opens again. Everyone turns their gaze to who’s joined you all.

“What’s this?”

“The remaining victors, won’t you join us?” Coin asks, motioning to the table and the one single chair that’s open for Katniss. It’s right between Peeta and Haymitch.

It takes a moment, but she slowly makes her way around the table, taking her spot. Everyone else follows her lead, taking a seat in their chairs and their different poses.

You watch as Annie blankly stares at Finnick, until her eyes shift away once she realizes you’re watching.

“I have invited you all here for several reasons. But first, I have an announcement, I have taken the burden and the honor of declaring myself interim president of Panem.” Coin says.

Your eyes drag to her. You can’t say you’re surprised, you literally called it just a few minutes ago.

Haymitch coughs like he’s choking on his own spit, “Interim? Exactly, how long is that?”

“We have no way of knowing for certain. But it’s clear that the people are far too emotional right now to make a rational decision.”

“Maybe you should consider a council instead.” you suggest, but your voice is hollow, “Y’know, so you’re not taking this burden entirely?”

“We’ll plan an election when the time is right.” Coin says, indirectly answering your statement, “But I have called you all here for a far more important vote, a symbolic vote. This afternoon we will execute Snow. Hundreds of his accomplices also await their deaths, Capitol officials, peacekeepers, torturers, gamemakers.”

You bite the inside of your lip again, trying to bite your tongue. You want to criticize everything she says. There’s so many flaws, and the others have to see this too, right?

“But the danger is, once we begin the rebels won’t stop calling for retribution. Thirst for blood is a difficult urge to satisfy. So, I offer an alternative plan. Majority for may approve it, no one may abstain.” She says carefully, “My proposal is this; in lieu of these barbaric executions, we hold a symbolic hunger games.”

Haymitch slowly lowers his tea cup.

Silence fills the room instantly after. As well as the looks on the other’s faces. Mainly the horror that Annie expresses, the little smirk forming on Johanna’s face, and the deadpan look that Katniss hasn’t lifted since she sat down in her chair.

Then, Johanna starts laughing, “You want to have another hunger games with the Capitol’s children?”

You dig your fingernails into the skin on your thumb.

“You’re joking.” Peeta says.

Coin shakes her head, “Not in the slightest.”

Haymitch scoffs, “Is this Plutarch’s idea?”

“It was mine.” Coin says.

Johanna clicks her pen once or twice, the smile on her face growing.

“It balances the need for revenge,” Coin reasons, “With the least loss of human life. You may cast your votes.”

“No.” Peeta nearly overlaps her speaking, “No, obviously not, this is crazy.”

Johanna leans forward, “I think it’s more than fair. Snow’s got a granddaughter. I say yes.” She looks at Peeta after, like she’s trying to strike a nerve.

“Johanna has a point.” you say, which makes a lot of heads turn, but your eyes are on Coin, “My vote is yes.”

“You guys, this way of thinking is what started the uprises.” Peeta says.

“I vote no, with Peeta.” Annie says.

“I vote no too.” Finnick says, and he looks at you, “After everything that happened to you? You really want to say yes?”

You lean towards him, “Some of those motherfuckers have sons and daughters. My vote stands.”

“No. We need to stop viewing each other as enemies.” Beetee says, you nearly forgot he was there because of how quiet he’s been.

It’s down to just Haymitch and Katniss. Katniss is staring right at Coin, “I get to kill Snow.”

“I expected no less of you.” Coin says, a smile hinting at her lips.

That rubs you the wrong way, and you can tell it does the same for Katniss, even if nothing physically changes. It’s the way Katniss pauses before speaking next, that gives it away, “Then I vote yes. For Prim.”

“Haymitch?” Coin asks, Katniss slowly turns her head to him.

They stare at each other for a moment before he decides his answer, “I’m with the mockingjay.”

“That carries the vote, excellent. We’ll announce the games tonight, after the execution.” Coin says, a smile is on her face.

You get up from the table, “Sounds good to me.”

Your eyes land on Finnick, eyebrows raised. He catches the drift and gets up from where he’s sitting.

“We’ll see you guys later.”

The two of you leave the room with no comments from anyone else. The moment that the door has shut behind Finnick, he’s on your ass.

“You seriously voted yes?”

“I’m out for blood.”

“I can tell.” Finnick says, he catches up with your pace, “I’ve been thinking about what you wanted.”

You slow a little, allowing him a chance to speak without it being rushed.

He takes this as a sign to keep talking, “Before you get mad, I know what you said, alright. You want a fresh start, away from people you know. District Four is like that.”

“Except for the fact that your ex-girlfriend is going to go back there too.”

“She isn’t.” he says.

You look over.

“She’s going to stay with Katniss’ mom or something. I talked to Annie last night to make sure I heard everything right. District Four is ours for the taking. It’s a fresh start to you, and it’s home for me.”

Finnick’s got a look on his face, and with the way that he’s already calmed you down immensely--he’s been getting better at it, lately--you can’t help but to be compliant.

“What happens when your neighbors hate me?” you ask, “Or we fight?”

“Easy, we get you a vacation house here.” Finnick’s proud of this one, he’s got a smile on his face, “You’ll be able to come here whenever you want. Live your life of luxury, and then come home.”

You stop walking now, “You’re sure you want me to go there, though? You want me around?”

Finnick laughs, coming closer. He’s gentle with the way he cups your jaw with one hand, looking down at you, “Honey, I’ve been chasing you around this entire time. I’m not going to stop now.”

You squint at him, “Honey?”

A smile appears on his face, and you can’t help but to smile too.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” Finnick says, running his thumb over your cheek.

“I let everything get to my head.”

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