#trying to avoid any pith

[birdsquirrel]

for science:

#i saw a youtuber demonstrate how he cuts a bell pepper #and he wasted SO MUCH of the good parts #trying to avoid any pith #whereas I tend to just tear the pith off with my fingers #and it occurred to me #that this is probably one of those things #like cilantro or tannins #where people have different sensitivities to the taste based on genetics

[forcheol]

౨ৎ oranges — csc

synopsis seungcheol peels you oranges... pairing seungcheol x fem reader genre fluff word count 0.5k hani’s notes cus i know this man would do it🥹 if you like my work, please consider reblogging or commenting because it motivates me sm rather than just liking 🩷

“doll,” seungcheol nudges you softly, “here.”

you tear your eyes away from the tv screen to look at seungcheol’s face who gestures to his hand with his eyes, eyebrows raising slightly.

in his open hand sits a peeled orange. it’s peeled so perfectly that it actually hurts, there’s none of those pesky piths on the orange segments and no seeds which you had mentioned to seungcheol that you preferred oranges without seeds and ever since, he’s only brought home clementines or any other types of seedless oranges.

“i didn’t…?”

seungcheol smiles softly, “i know you didn’t, but i also know how you like snacking on oranges while we watch our show.”

you think you might burst with all the love you have for the man before you. he peeled it without you even having to ask.

laughing at his witty statement, you take the orange from his hand and whisper a quiet ‘thank you’ before taking his hand in yours and bringing it to your lips for a kiss. a stamp of gratitude.

that’s when you notice it. the free edge of his nails are a tinted yellow-orange colour, like the peel of the orange he had ripped off so carefully that it did not break off at any part.

“hey,” you start, “your nails are stained.”

seungcheol pulls his hand away to take a look and he laughs, “really? i didn’t even realise that.”

“don’t peel these next time, your nails are orange now.”

he just stares at you for a few moments, so lost in your worry-filled eyes.

a deep chuckle leaves his mouth, filled with amusement because you were so adorable to him. the way you were concerned about his nails staining, he could kiss you senseless right then and there.

“sweetheart, i’d peel hundreds of oranges even if it meant that my nails would get stained in this way every time.”

oh.

oh.

his comment has rendered you absolutely speechless. you fall still for what feels like ages, trying to process his sickeningly sweet words — you might have to see a dentist after this.

your mouth opens then closes again, unable to get a single word out. blood rushes to your cheeks and you can feel them become warmer and warmer the longer you stare into seungcheol’s alluring eyes.

you don’t think you can hold it back any longer, so you place the orange on the coffee table and throw yourself onto seungcheol, tightening your arms around his neck.

the vibrations from his throat as he laughs transfer onto your body and you press yourself into him more. saying that you were flustered from his comment would be an understatement. you were more than flustered and so in love with choi seungcheol.

“has my sweet girl gone all shy?” he teases and you hide yourself further in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

as you’re shaking your head ‘no’, he laughs again, one large hand going to stroke the side of your head. the tip of your ears are hot to his touch and now he knows for sure that you’re shy and a blushing mess.

seungcheol pulls away from the embrace and looks at you with ‘heart eyes’. when you go to hide your face again, he stops you, hands going to either side of your face and lips pressing against your cheek.

“oh, my silly girl,” he follows your avoiding eyes, “what am i ever going to do with you? hm?”

also guys look....that penguin is so him in the picture i put below, i'm sobbing...T__T

#hani writes! #hani writes: csc #hani writes: svt #caratsland #scoups #scoups x reader #scoups fluff #scoups imagines #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol fluff #choi seungcheol imagines #seventeen #seventeen fluff

[apolloendymion]

ok! i think tumblr ate my fucking apple cider recipe post. still, my autumn equinox tradition must carry on!

Apollo's Foolproof From-Scratch Apple Cider That Was So Good It Allegedly Landed Me A Boyfriend

you will need:

12 apples (the variety is up to you, i usually do half granny smith and half whatever's on sale plus a red delicious for garnishing)

10oz raisins

cinnamon sticks, whole cloves, star anise, nutmeg, allspice, cardamom pods, any other warming spices u like (whole > ground) (follow ur heart on the amounts, it's like garlic just throw so much in there. just go wild)

1 orange

brown sugar (i don't have measurements but be prepared to use a LOT lmao, i always buy at least one 32oz bag. you'll be sweetening to taste.)

large pot with lid

potato masher (optional)

two large bowls/pots/receptacles to strain the cider into

fine mesh strainer

cheesecloth or coffee filters (optional)

apple corer or knife

citrus zester

slotted spoon or ladle

the steps:

1. scrub apples gently under hot water to remove grocery store wax coating. core apples making sure all seeds & stems are removed. add apples, raisins, and mulling spices to pot with enough water to fully cover ingredients, and bring to boil. reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 1 hour.

2. scrub orange to remove wax. zest and juice, avoiding the pith & seeds. use a potato masher or other utensil to lightly mash boiled apple mixture so every apple slice is at least partially broken up, then add the zest & juice to the pot. bring back to boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer for another hour. then turn off the heat and allow mixture to cool.

3. place two mesh strainers over two bowls or pots (and cover each with a cheesecloth or coffee filters, if you have them). with a slotted spoon or ladle, remove as much of the solids from the pot as you can and place them in one strainer (the larger one, if they are different sizes) to drain, then press out as much liquid into the cheesecloth as possible.

4. pour the cider from the simmer pot into the second cheesecloth and press. combine the liquid from both bowls.

5. add brown sugar to taste

cooking tips:

the times listed above are bare minimums. once all the ingredients are in the pot (minus sugar!) you can simmer as long as you want, so long as someone's nearby to supervise.

always add any sweeteners after the cooking process. otherwise, they'll burn and make the whole thing bitter.

if it's too acidic, add baking soda or more spices. if it's not acidic enough, add lemon juice, additional orange juice, or apple cider vinegar.

variations:

add 12oz fresh cranberries to the first step

sub oranges for lemons or apple cider vinegar

sub brown sugar for straight molasses, maple syrup, or alternative sweetener of your choice (I'd imagine fig or other fruit-based sweeteners would work best)

report back to me if you try something new!! i want to hear how it turned out!

serving suggestions:

add three or four cinnamon imperials (red hots) to your mug, along with a dash of fireball whiskey if you're so inclined. i cannot stress enough how fucking amazing this tastes.

garnish with apple slices, orange slices, cinnamon sticks, and/or star anise

if you have dairy-free ice cream on hand, pour some cider over a scoop. you can use dairy ice cream, but it's more likely to curdle.

freeze some in an ice cube tray, then blend with some non-frozen cider for a slushie

ok I've never tried this, but i bet blending with pumpkin puree would slap. PLEASE tell me if you try it

this makes a metric fuckload of cider, which is very rich and can be watered down considerably (seriously). share with your friends and/or freeze some to last the season (or halve it, i guess, but that's no fun :P)

#mabon #autumn equinox #fall equinox #apple cider #recipe #autumn recipes #fall recipes #from scratch #easy recipes #apollo's recipes

[dustedmagazine]

Slept Ons: 2023

Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter

If you write for Dusted, you listen to music all the time and you try, at least within your general area of interest, to stay current with what’s current. Ask any of our significant others, and they’ll say we listen to too much music, to which we inevitably reply “What’s that, this ‘too much’ you speak of?” We listen to music while we’re eating, while we’re working, while we’re exercising, while we’re driving from one place to another, even while we’re brushing our teeth sometimes; though, admittedly, the sound quality is not that great in the bathroom.

Even so, we miss things. Here, in what has become an annual tradition, we revisit some of the albums that slipped away in one fashion or another, the ones that we kept putting off until it was too late, the ones we somehow didn’t catch wind of until well into January, the ones we discovered tardily on other people’s lists and year-end podcasts and radio shows. So here are our late finds, a favorite or two each that we never got the chance to write about. Fortunately, unlike bread and fresh fruit and bunches of cilantro, albums don’t go bad if you let them sit for a while.

Die Enttäuschung und Alexander Von Schlippenbach — Monk’s Casino Live At Au Topsi Pohl (Two Nineteen)

This record wasn’t so much slept on as patiently sleuthed. Die Enttäuschung, the long-running German quartet (their name translates as The Disappointment, an appellation that says more about their sense of humor than the quality of their ever-buoyant reimagining of bebop and early free jazz) started selling it at gigs in the spring of 2023. I bided my time, and when I made it to Berlin last fall, scoring a copy was on my agenda. To this day, the record and the internet are near strangers; while you can buy it from Bandcamp, there’s no download, streaming or videos. So, you’ll have to just take it from me that Die Enttäuschung’s reunion with now-octogenarian pianist Alexander von Schlippenbach will take wrinkles off your brow. The first time that these musicians recorded together as Monk’s Casino, back in 2005, they performed every one of Thelonious Monk’s compositions over three CDs; pith was essential. The repertoire hasn’t changed this time, but the approach is looser. Crammed into the intimate confines of the now-shuttered Au Topsi Pohl just as Omicron started ruining parties, the five musicians goose the tempos, spike the solos with impertinence, and veer around Monk’s sharp angles with a combination of intimate familiarity and belt-busting abandon.

Bill Meyer

Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter — SAVED! (Perpetual Flame Ministries)

Not slept on so much as avoided— and why, at this point I am not entirely sure. When I saw Kristin Hayter perform under her previous Lingua Ignota moniker back in December of 2022, she opened with a set of devotional songs on piano, a variety of metallic objects set and chains draped across the instrument’s interior string works. It was extraordinary, and SAVED! features the same basic set of raw, austere elements: that prepared piano, Hayter’s remarkable voice and the problematics of faith. The avoidance may stem from my own fraught relations to the sort of grim Protestantism Hayter reimagines; I spend some time around fire-and-brimstone Baptism as a child, and it left a mark on me. She wove some of that language and those textures into the excellent Lingua Ignota record Sinner Get Ready, but there they were much more symbolic, and largely couched in specific fundamentalisms (Amish and Mennonite) that distanced them somewhat. The sounds and spiritual gestures on SAVED! are a good deal more familiar to me, and they haunt. Likely the haunting is the point. Certainly “All of My Friends Are Going to Hell” and “I Know His Blood Can Make Me Whole” smolder and then burn with varieties of hellfire I have smelled before. One can also hear those songs more metaphorically, and “I Will Be with You Always” (the best thing on the record) is replete with images and intensities that call to multiple levels of meaning, simultaneously and sublimely. SAVED! is a hard record for me to listen to, and that’s why I have come, somewhat belatedly, to prize it so highly.

Jonathan Shaw

Illusion of Safety — Pastoral (Korm Plastics)

Daniel Burke has been carefully and consistently nurturing his Illusion of Safety project for 40 years, and I’ve been embarrassingly ignorant of the output until now. Burke released multiple audio artifacts in 2023, including a 40th anniversary ten-cassette box set, so choosing a single album to write about for the Slept On column was a daunting undertaking. Pastoral is unique in that it shows off a more delicate and expansive side of the Illusion of Safety oeuvre. It’s also one of the few music-focused objects that the stalwart Korm Plastics label has released in years; the imprint focuses on the written word these days. Sonically, Burke has established a series of vignettes that follow a similar pattern. The music flows from short, sharp attacks into lengthy sustained quietude. Burke unleashes his jarring, frantic salvos both percussively and synthetically, and these brief but unsettling periods morph into slowly churning drone swarms. Given that this is just one example of Burke’s sonic vernacular, I’m excited to hear more. Thankfully, when it comes to Illusion of Safety, I’ve been a veritable Rip Van Winkle.

Bryon Hayes

Malla — Fresko (Solina)

So slept on was Malla Malmivaara’s second solo album that even the normally reliable Beehype missed it, but even if you did happen to notice its inclusion on my midyear list, overstating how well-crafted and immersive Fresko’s dance-pop tracks are is hard to do. It makes sense given she’s better known for her acting career, but Malla’s been in the Finnish music game for a long time, too — first in the short-lived mid-aughts house trio Elisabeth Underground, then as herself with 2019’s “Sabrina” single (which got a Jori Hulkkonen remix, a guy who once redid M83) that ended up paving the way for her self-titled 2021 debut full-length. Despite using similar synth arpeggios and a healthy dose of vocal reverb as she did on Malla, Fresko is a little bit darker, moodier, more down in it. Lead single “Moi” (“hi” in English) tells the tale, its perfectly crafted video full of young Rolf Ekroth models doing things like looking impossibly cool in ridiculous outfits and having fashion shows with ATVs in snowy back alley Helsinki parking lots are a perfect marriage of audio and video, images and a melody burned in my brain the moment I saw it. It is very much a dance record flush with tech-house tweaks and no grander artistic ambitions, but Malla’s barely crested 40; now that she’s pledged more time to her music career, it’s entirely possible Fresko is but a warmup for something bolder — and even if it’s not, you could do much worse than a third album full of body movers like this. Hi is right.

Patrick Masterson

Kevin Richard Martin – Black (Intercranial)

Ostensibly a eulogy to Amy Winehouse, Kevin Richard Martin’s Black is a deeply humane expression of isolation, loss and grief. Built from the ground up, the bass deep and warm, swathes of glacial arpeggiated synths and beats that hint at the club. Notes echo and ripple away to create silhouettes of solitude, a tangible manifestation of absence. Despite the deep weight of his music, Martin imbues Black with an incredible delicacy. His abstract architecture allows the mind to roam and the listener to connect with emotional truths. It’s the balance Martin finds between the particular and universal that gives Black it’s power. In the strutting bassline of “Camden Crawling” smeared with narco/alcoholic fuzz, the looming threat of “Blake’s Shadow” and the bleary saxophone in “Belgrade Meltdown” there are the faintest echoes of Winehouse’s sound which emerge from the depths of Martin’s echo chambers. A work of terrible sadness, great beauty, empathy and comfort.

Andrew Forell

Derek Monypeny — Cibola (2182 Recording Company)

Cibola eased into the world as 2022 turned into 2023, but it took me nearly a year to get to it. Monypeny is a confirmed westerner, having lived in Arizona, Oregon, and (currently) the California desert, and an awareness of both the wrongfulness and the good fortune of living in that neck of the woods infuses Cibola, which is named for one of the American southwest’s legendary cities of gold (helpful hint; if you ever encounter a conquistador looking for gold, tell them it’s somewhere else). Monypeny alternates between guitar, shahi baaja, and on electric autoharp the LP’s seven tracks, and Kevin Corcoran contributes time-stopping metal percussion to one of them. The music likewise toggles between stark evocations of space and swirling submersions into nether states. In either mode, Monypeny effectively suggests the gorgeous immensity and pitiless history of the land around him.

Bill Meyer

The Sundae Painters — S-T (Flying Nun)

One minute, The Sundae Painters are churning wild screes of noisy guitar, the next they construct airy psychedelic pop songs of a rare unstudied grace. The band is a super group of sorts — Paul Kean and Kaye Woodward of the Bats, Alex Bathgate of the Tall Dwarfs and the late Hamish Kilgour of the Clean — convening in loose-limbed, joyful mayhem in songs that glisten and shimmer and roar. “Hollow Way” roils thick, muddy textures of drone up from the bottom, the slippery bent notes of sitar (that’s Bathgate) and Woodward’s diaphanous vocals floating free of a visceral murk. “Aversion” lets unhinged guitar shards fly over the thump of grounding drums as Kilgour chants inscrutable poetry. The two HAP tracks, I and II, stretch out in locked-in, psychotropic grooves, relentless forward motion somehow dissolving into an endless ecstatic now. This full-length, sadly the only one we’ll ever have from the Sundae Painters now that Kilgour is gone, is as good as anything that its esteemed participants ever did in their more famous bands, and that’s saying a lot.

Jennifer Kelly

U SCO — Catchin’ Heat (Self Released)

Here’s the extent of what I currently know: Someone I have on Facebook posted a link to it as one of his favorite records of the year, and someone I don’t know responded that they bought a copy of the cassette before the first track even finished. U SCO are Jon Scheid (bass), Ryan Miller (guitar), and Phil Cleary (Drums) and they are from and/or based in Portland Oregon. According to Discogs and Bandcamp Catchin’ Heat is the first thing they’ve released since 2016. That’s it! I started listened to this with the same box-checking, due diligence energy I tend to have for the dozen or so records I hear about one way or another after I’ve already done my year-end writing; most of them, every year, I don’t even make it through one play (the fatigue has fully set in by this point in the process). But sure enough before the end of that first track, I knew this was going to have to be the record I slept on. It’s perfectly structured, with extra-long, absolute blowouts beginning and ending the record, the second and second-last tracks being the two shortest and the only moments of relative calm, and the middle two making up a strong core that both brings in some elements not found elsewhere on Catchin’ Heat (the vocals on “trrrem”) and is just the most straightforward version of the absolute burners U SCO can clearly summon up on command (“woe dimension”). As great and arresting as that opening track is, though, the closing “abyssal hymn” might be the real highlight here, bringing in clarinet and saxophone to add a whole new layer of skronk to what they’re cooking. I’ve listened to this record about 10 times in a couple of days, and they deserve to sell out of that run of cassettes.

Ian Mathers

#dusted magazine #yearend 2023 #slept ons #Die Enttäuschung und Alexander Von Schlippenbach #bill meyer #Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter #jonathan shaw #illusion of safety #bryon hayes #malla #patrick masterson #kevin richard martin #andrew forell #derek monypeny #jennifer kelly #the sundae painters #Ian mathers #U SCO

[talenlee]

Gdcn't #1 — Understanding Others

This week, from the 18th to the 22nd of March, it’s the Game Developer’s Conference. This is an event in which Game Developers from across the industry give talks and presentations on what they do and how they do it to their peer group. In honour of this, I’m presenting articles this week that seek to summarise and explain some academic concepts from my own readings to a general audience. In deference to my supervisor, I am also trying to avoid writing with italics in these articles outside of titles and cites.

There’s an association with academic reading that fundamentally, academic writing and thinking is about a disconnected experience of reality that is explicitly not practical or realistic. ‘An Academic Point’ is a term we use to describe a thing that isn’t connected to any kind of realistic experience. I want however to talk to you about an idea from academia that gave me words to describe something I found important for living my life and being a better person. It’s an idea, it’s a tool, it’s a pitfall, and it is, importantly, a story.

It is a story that starts with the technique I use in my research called ‘autoethnography.’

What I do, generally speaking, is work with the academic toolset of autoethnography.

Autoethnography is a process of engaging with an experience, recording that experience somehow, then academically and critically engaging with the recording of that experience. I like to point to a number of forms this takes in general media – movie and game reviews, for example, are autoethnographic texts, where the experience of the reviewer is shared to an audience in a way that seeks to make that opinion a thing people can meaningfully engage with. Autoethnography is powerful for giving writers a way to share individual experiences that are not necessarily in forms that research can conventionally access. Quantitative research is very good at reducing averages and statistical trends out of large sets of data, with larger and larger sets of data being able to have more and more confidence – but how does that toolset handle addressing information that has happened to small numbers of people, and with access to an even smaller number of those people?

I like autoethnography and I like a lot of the researchers who use autoethnography. This is partly because they bring the tool to bear on ideas like the experience of being a closeted queer person or the emotional challenges of being an adopted parent. Partly it’s because it is a form of research that strives to respect the writer as part of the writing, and therefore what they experience and who they are is worth sharing and explaining. You know a little bit about me, hypothetically,

Autoethnography is — well, autoethnography is new. It’s also very old. The term autoethnography has been considered an academically useful term with a specific meaning since 2004, but prior to that its use is ambiguated by the people who were using it. Autoethnography isn’t a recent field, really, nor is it a recent word. If you want to point to the time in history where it first gets coined in the terms of the specific process of academic writing I’m doing, you look at the work of Carolyn Ellis, along with her cohort of fellow storytellers and meaningmakers, in the book Autoethnography: Understanding Qualitative Research, 2015. By this timeline, Autoethnography is an academic discipline younger than Shrek 2.

If you want to step back through the timeline there are earlier works from other cultural writers talking about the idea of autoethnography, but not in those words. Ethnography, the study of culture, is something we’ve been doing for a long time, and by ‘a long time’ I mean ‘pith helmet and shooting people’ times. Autoethnography is an attempt to do this kind of cultural analysis that’s aware of the non-objective nature of the ethnographer. This idea that ethnography is not object is the result of numerous critics of the form, but one critic I want to highlight is a man who is responsible for coining the phrase key to this whole story.

Let’s call him Dwight, for now, because, y’know, that’s his name.

Dwight is responsible for writing the essay I Am A Shaman: A Hmong Life Story With Ethnographic Commentary (1986). I’ve not the text on hand, but that’s not too important here. The important thing is that with the title ‘I Am A Shaman’ the writer positions himself in the middle of the story of Hmong shamanism, set in the context of Hmong refuees in the Ban Vinai Refugee Camp in northern Thailand. Dwight came from Thunder Bay, in Canada, and spent years in this research becoming part of the community, approaching it authentically, and bringing what he could understand from the community in his research. This set something of a trend for this guy – he also worked researching the Chicago tenements, known as ‘Little Beirut,’ and then worked on American attitudes towards the death penalty. Generally speaking, I understand Dwight’s work to be well-regarded, respectful, but also, importantly, deeply involved in the communities he was researching.

In his work, Dwight describes four attitudes towards the other that are problems when writing about culture. He describes them as:

The Custodian’s Ripoff. This is when a researcher appropriates cultural traditions in order to enhance their own projects. Imagine a museum curator who wants something interesting to build their repertoire of artifacts.

The Enthusiast’s Infatuation. This is when a researcher is really into a superficial impression of the culture, which means they tend to ignore the differences between themselves and the other, and speak for them in ways that don’t appreciate the depth of meaning there. It’s fanboying for the culture you’re researching, as it were.

The Curator’s Exhibitionism. This is when a researcher is trying to sensationalise and astonish with what they report, wanting to show the exotic, the primitive, and the culturally remote.

The Skeptic’s Cop-Out. This is when the researcher just gives up and becomes detached from the research, suggesting it’s impossible to learn about, nor perform, as persons who are different from us.

It’s this last one that stands out to me. The Skeptic’s Cop-Out. The idea that while trying to learn about something, you find it too hard to find your own emotional connection with it, you find it too difficult to imagine being another person or a person of another perspective, and just give up and assert nihilistically that these things are impossible. This is a perspective you might see a lot in your everyday, with ‘I just don’t get it’ responses to queer ideas from non-queer spaces. There’s a cousin to it, too, in those queer spaces – you know, ‘cis people can never understand.’

Don’t take this the wrong way, by the way: People saying stuff like ‘cis people can never understand’ are probably basing that on some pretty meaningful personal experiences about not being understood by cis people. That doesn’t mean they’re right though.

I write about trans and gender issues pretty regularly. This isn’t because I am trans and have gender issues — it’s partly because I find them interesting, and I find the way they get talked about rarely intersect with the things about them that I engage with. For me, how to represent a trans character in a game matters a lot – no trans people are going to ask me how to expresss their being themselves in their lives, and nor should they. This got to a point where, a few years ago, someone asked me why I bothered to talk about it so much, because why would I if I wasn’t part of the community? Was it my place?

This is one of the first times I apparently made it clear that I’m bisexual in any space online, because I felt like I was being asked to show my queer papers. It was an unpleasant experience, but it came with it an unstated and slightly sad assumption I could see in the shape of the question:

Why would you try and understand or relate to trans people this thoroughly, if you weren’t one of them?

And that’s messed up, right? That’s a deeply sad assumption to have to deal with in your everyday life? Trans people aren’t the Black Speech or the Pattern Screamers, they’re not something where understanding them poisons your mind. They’re people. They have their own jokes about hoodies and salt licks and bananas just in the same way that tiktokkers have their own jokes about air friers and gotta-hand-it-toing Osama Bin Laden. They are people who have a cultural experience and that cultural experience has both shared signifiers (being trans) and they have unrelated experiences (most of everything in their lives that isn’t part of being trans).

I think as long as people are sharing information about who they are, that is information you can engage with. You can listen and you can ask and you can, if you are willing to, come to recognise why things are the way they are, because none of this is being built out of a magical, or spiritual perspective on reality. You don’t have to feel a thing to understand when someone else tells you how they feel. All it takes is being willing to listen to the people, remember what you’re told, and treat the telling with respect.

Here’s the big thing that sticks in my brain, that makes this list so easy to bring to mind, because it’s such a weird detail. Dwight, the guy who had these really serious thoughts about access to critical and ethical spaces, this guy who wanted us to think about who we were and how we can, if we are willing to try understand one another on a deeper level than these, had the name Dwight Conquergood.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Academia

[merrybrides]

DIY: Summer Citrus Sugar Scrub

Rejuvenate and revive your skin with this easy citrus sugar scrub recipe. With only 3 ingredients you probably already have on hand, you’ll be ready to whip up this gentle exfoliating body scrub in no time! 

Sugar Scrub, or body polish is a luxurious way to refresh your skin. It is so gentle that it can even be used on sensitive skin. 

Exfoliating body scrub makes a great shower favor, quick gift, treat for yourself or a hostess gift when you are welcomed to a friend’s beach house.  This jar will keep my skin happy all summer long!

Keep a jar of this sugar scrub by your kitchen to soothe your hands after washing dishes. It will rehydrate your skin from the harshness of the hot water and dish soap. Keep a jar of sugar scrub in the shower for a mini spa treatment up to 3 times a week! 

Citrus Sugar Scrub Recipe Ingredients

It’s made with just a few ingredients, from your kitchen!

Sugar – 1/2 cup of regular white table sugar is perfect for this diy sugar scrub! It exfoliates your skin, gentling rubbing away dead skin cells leaving your skin feeling smooth and radiant. 

Oil – I use 1/4 cup Vitamin E Oil in this recipe which is so good for your skin. Its anti inflammatory properties soothes and calms, while hydrating dry skin and working to heal any blemishes. 

Citrus – Is so good for your body inside and out! Naturally full of vitamin C it leaves your skin with a beautiful glow! It also can help to lighten sun spots or other blemishes on your skin. I love the texture and beautiful color the citrus adds along with its amazingly refreshing scent!  You can use the zest from one Orange, Grapefruit, or Lemon, or 2 Limes, in this recipe.

*** Zest is made from the top layer of a fruit peel. Always try to avoid the white pith. If you don’t have a zester, you can use a vegetable peeler to gently peel the top layer of your fruit. Then cut the strips into finer strips lengthwise, and then again into tiny cubes widthwise. 

Supplies

Large Glass Mixing Bowl

Handheld Citrus Zester (variations under Tips and Tricks)

Spatula

Measuring Cups

Sealable Glass Jars (I like to use mason jars or repurpose clean jars I already own)

Ice Cream Scoop

How to Make Exfoliating Body Scrub

This scrub is so easy to make. It only contains natural ingredients and no artificial food colorings.

Combine sugar and oil.

2. Add zest.

3. Scoop into sealable glass jars.

4. Label and date.

5. Store for up to 3 months in an airtight container.

Variations

This sugar scrub recipe is so easy to customize to fit your needs! 

Citrus Variations – In this recipe I use orange, but any other citrus would work well! In the past, I have used grapefruit, orange, lime, and lemon. They all have worked wonderfully! If using lime I chose to use the zest from 2 limes since they are smaller sized fruit.

Oil Variations – Vitamin E Oil, Coconut Oil, Olive Oil, Almond Oil, Carrot Oil, Argan Oil, Jojoba Oil, and Grapeseed Oil. 

Sugar Variations – Any white sugar should work well in this recipe. Sugar is used for a gentle exfoliation so keep that in mind when choosing the coarseness of the sugar. 

For a winter sugar scrub try adding a dash of ground cloves or ground cinnamon. 

Add a few drops of essential oils. My favorite combinations include other citrus oils to complement and enhance, floral scents such as moroccan rose or lavender, and woody scents such cedar or rosemary. 

Pro Tip: If using coconut oil, it will help to slightly warm the oil on the stovetop or even the microwave before adding it to the mixture. I love coconut oil and lime combination! 

How to Store Sugar Scrub

This Sugar Scrub recipe can be stored for up to 3 months in a properly sealed jar / airtight container.  

PRO TIP: Upcycle jars you already own!

#DIY Citrus Sugar Scrub #Summer Body Scrub Recipe #Homemade Exfoliating Scrub #Natural Skin Rejuvenation #Sensitive Skin Body Polish #Citrus Zest Beauty Products #Vitamin E Oil Benefits #Kitchen Ingredients Skin Care #Gift Ideas: DIY Sugar Scrub #How to Make Sugar Scrub

[negative-ease]

sunrise... sunset... sangria... dance sweat

project diary cast on entry follows ~

oooooo it's driving me crazy how uneven that square is!!! but that's just test square #1 so it's ok. I sort of figure I'll redo it at the very end -- I never crochet and I've just picked it up again after many years, so my tension is bound to improve over the course of the few dozen of these I'm about to make.

Here are the stats.

-it's a throw. it's for my sister's bday in 4 months.

-it uses the bones of the citrus slice pattern from "the modern guide to granny squares"

-all squares will have the same background (same color as the pith) and a gradient border

-after assembly, the blanket will reverse the gradient border, so another sc row of yellow going back out to the darker pink

-squares are 8x8. to make throw-sized i believe it'll be 6x7, or 42 squares. this feels very doable; i can easily do one square in a day without any clue what i'm doing. once i have the hang of it, 2-3 squares in a day would be fine.

-the yarn is "scheepjes soft fun". i looked at sooo many options before going with this one, but i'm really happy with it. i just couldn't find any natural yarn that had all the specific colors i wanted... i didn't want to mix and match, and i was also wary of price because crochet is so yarn thirsty compared to knitting. the scheepjes skeins are less than $4 for 140m which is fantastic. it's 60% cotton and 40% acrylic. i never work with cotton and i never work with acrylic. but i am enjoying it and really happy with my choice.

-to start with i ordered 5x of the pith/bg and 3x of all other colors. i know i will need more. according to my kitchen scale, after the first test square i'd used about 10g of the pith/bg and about 5g of the slice color. i'll need to do a little more before i'm confident enough to make a second (hopefully final) order. i'm not too worried about dye lots because the squares are discrete, so if i wash before assembly (for example) i should be able to offset any color variance during assembly.

-here was my planning before the yarn search... after confirming i could actually crochet this, i mocked up a really basic diagram and then pulled out the colored pencils. was testing on 2008 babette blanket cascade 220 yarns.... yuuuuup!

-the book has been great to practice reading charts & written instructions, which were always sort of bewildering for me. because i've made a few changes in the outer rounds, i figured i'd try to rewrite the chart (also there are a few minor errors in the printed charts I think? not positive. but to my untrained eye it seems so.) so i've been messing with stitch fiddle with... interesting results lol. placing symbols individually..... i'm sure there's a better way to do it but what am i gonna do, read a manual? grow up. i might just bust out the colored pencils again.

just showing a small part because i'm only rewriting, but... lol. god it's a mess. but i'm learning!

-the lime green i have is on the yellowish side so i think it will work. that's the second test square i'm working on now.

-fun fact: the real reason i picked crochet up again was that i am desperate to make this mosaic throw. but my first attempts were awful, so i decided i needed a lot more practice to get the muscle memory back (and TENSION!!!! ugh). so that's how i ended up here. there's a couple other stashbusting projects i have in mind, too. i'll try the mosaic again eventually!

-last thing for now, it feels criminal that this book, which is super colorful - and does not use varigated yarns in its examples - does not even discuss methods to avoid or mitigate weaving in ends. come on! in my first square, i didn't weave in any. in my second test, i'm working over the ends to see how that looks, works, and how secure it is. so far so good! thank you to the many reddit posts about the pros and cons of all these methods... for me... i know i will die if i'm weaving in 20+ ends per square. ...x42... and it's going to a childless, catless adult so like. i think it will be safe.

everything else about the book is lovely and i'd recommend it to beginning & intermediate crocheters in a heartbeat! i'm a sucker for rainbow colors... the charts and instructions are great and the reference in the back is also very clear.

ok... bye until there is fun or interesting progress to report!

#crochet #yarn crafts #cast on #hand crafted

[motivationaquotes1]

Ravindra Jadeja Quotes – Engaging Motivation from the ‘Sir Jadeja’ of Cricket

Ravindra Jadeja, affectionately known as the 'Sir Jadeja' of cricket, isn't simply an uncommon all-rounder on the field yet in addition a moving figure off the pitch. With his unflinching devotion, unrivaled abilities, and an energy for the game, Jadeja has won the hearts of millions around the world. Past his cricketing ability, he shares pearls of shrewdness through his statements that reverberate with individuals from varying backgrounds. In this blog entry, we plunge into the universe of Ravindra Jadeja Quotes, investigating the pith of his motivation and what they can decidedly mean for us.

The Man Behind the Statements

Ravindra Jadeja, hailing from Saurashtra in Gujarat, India, has ascended to turn into an unmistakable power in global cricket. His excursion from a youthful cricketer to perhaps of India's best all-rounder has been loaded up with difficult work, steadiness, and assurance. Along this excursion, he has shared his contemplations and encounters, offering looks at the qualities that have molded his life.

Embracing Difficulties

"Try not to fear overcoming difficulties. At the point when you face them with mental fortitude, they become venturing stones to progress." - Ravindra Jadeja

Jadeja's words advise us that difficulties are an inescapable piece of life. Instead of avoiding them, we ought to embrace them with fortitude and assurance. Each challenge we vanquish moves us further towards making progress.

The Force of Self-Conviction

"Have faith in yourself, in any event, when others question you. Your self-conviction will direct you towards your fantasies." - Ravindra Jadeja

Despite uncertainty and wariness, self-conviction goes about as a directing light. Jadeja's statement urges us to believe our capacities and remain fixed on our fantasies, independent of outside sentiments.

Lowliness and Achievement

"Remain unassuming, regardless of how effective you become. Modesty keeps you grounded and appreciative." - Ravindra Jadeja

Achievement ought to never cloud our feeling of lowliness. Jadeja underlines the significance of remaining humble, as it keeps us associated with our foundations and reminds us to be appreciative for what we have accomplished.

Steadiness Pays Off

"Steadiness is the way to beating snags. Continue pushing ahead, in any event, whenever hard times arise." - Ravindra Jadeja

Jadeja's excursion to progress has been set apart by flexibility and tirelessness. His statement fills in as an update that determination despite challenges eventually prompts win.

Also Read: Motivational Quotes in Hindi

Ravindra Jadeja Quotes FAQs

1. What moves Ravindra Jadeja to perform at his best?

Ravindra Jadeja's enthusiasm for the game, love for contest, and want to make his country glad move him to reliably perform at his best.

2. How does Ravindra Jadeja keep a cool head under tension?

Jadeja ascribes his levelheadedness constrained to his psychological arrangement, center around the current second, and confidence in his preparation.

3. What life examples could we at any point gain from Ravindra Jadeja's excursion?

Ravindra Jadeja's process shows us the worth of difficult work, modesty, self-conviction, and diligence in accomplishing our objectives.

4. How does Ravindra Jadeja adjust his own and proficient life?

Jadeja puts stock in keeping a harmony between his own and proficient life to guarantee mental prosperity and supported achievement.

Conclusion:

Ravindra Jadeja Quotes, an awe-inspiring phenomenon in the cricketing scene, goes past his donning accomplishments. Through his statements, he shares important life illustrations that can enable and motivate all of us. From embracing difficulties with mental fortitude to sustaining self-conviction and modesty, his words reverberate with the quintessence of human soul and development. Ravindra Jadeja's excursion from a modest community to worldwide fame is a demonstration of the force of devotion, steadiness, and self-conviction.

In this way, how about we draw motivation from the insight of 'Sir Jadeja' and guzzle these qualities in our own lives, driving us towards progress and self-improvement.

Source: https://wordpress.com/post/motivationaquotes.wordpress.com/76

#Ravindra Jadeja Quotes #Ravindra Jadeja Quotes in Hindi #Jadeja Quotes #Jadeja Quotes in Hindi

[strawwritesfic]

Bruce Banner x Female!Civilian!Reader: Oh My Dear [Ch. 4]

Summary: For [F Name] [L Name], Manhattan was nothing but a hellhole. She got out and wasn’t ever coming back. When a set of cut-rate superheroes tears the city apart, however, her grandmother sucks her back into that familiar life of loneliness and angry customers. Even worse, one of those superheroes has decided to use [Name] in another crazy plan to “help” his best friend. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Tony’s plan just might work-if only for a few months.

Challenge:  “#1 AVENGERS ULTIMATE CHALLENGE!!!!“ by DancingBubbles on Lunaescence Archives.

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: T (foul language; sexual references; manipulative friends who won’t take no for an answer; dead parents; difficult relationships with family members; some language that might border on verbal abuse from a family member; angst; contrived coincidences; a generally unresearched depiction of paraplegia; set post-Avengers (2012) and pre-Age of Ultron; Tony & Bruce friendship)

Pairings: Bruce Banner/Female!Reader; Tony Stark/Pepper Potts; Past!Bruce Banner/Betty Ross

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Master List

Chapter 4: With Friends Like These

Bruce waited until he heard the faint churning of the elevator before he took a deep breath and ducked back into the laboratory. Things there remained in exactly the same place, almost as if he had never left to begin with. Tony stood in one dimmed corner, his brown eyes narrowing and widening as he poked at one of the screens hanging in midair. Probably still busy trying to find that error in the programming code. No one wanted JARVIS to get a virus, after all.

Busy was how Bruce preferred Tony at the moment. Bruce’s heart was hammering hard enough to be a threat, and his friend’s distraction would give him some time to focus on peeling the skin from his orange until his pulse slowed somewhat.

Of course, Tony could never be deterred for long. Not if he knew doing so would be of some convenience to someone else. “Hey,” he said with a glance in Bruce’s direction. “Bring me back a snack?”

“Sorry, no.”

“What, we out of grapefruit already?”

Bruce chuckled, slowly pulling pith of the fruit in his hand. After his chance encounter with the grocery woman, his appetite seemed to have flown south for the winter. Tony, if he found out, would just laugh–or worse, want to fix it. The silence would probably be a hint, though, so Bruce rolled his eyes at the ceiling and spoke as casually as he could:

“Dinner will be in a couple of hours.”

“You know I don’t do meals.”

“You should. Pepper gets annoyed when the food gets sent back.”

“By annoyed, do you mean ‘hot and bothered’?”

“You’re impossible.”

“As impossible as you when you’re trying to avoid being questioned about something?”

Bruce looked up to see Tony staring straight at him. There wasn’t a smile on the man’s face, although he didn’t look particularly concerned either. Trouble. Definitely trouble. After a quick, nervous twitch of his mouth, Bruce went back to his orange. By then, most of the fruit was exposed, but he still needed something to do with his hands.

“Bruce. C’mon. What happened? Did Pepper say something?” Tony asked.

“About what?” He shook his head. “Pepper wouldn’t say anything to bother me.”

“Then what happened? You’re being all secretive.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Tony–”

“Bruce.”

His brown eyes swept up once again toward the ceiling. No cobwebs, but that wasn’t the point. A sharp breath slipped from between his lips as Bruce lifted a hand and tugged it agitatedly through his curly hair. “Really, Tony. It isn’t anything. Let’s just make sure this update of yours won’t wreak any havoc. The last thing we need is JARVIS going rogue.”

“The problem isn’t that bad.” Tony walked toward Bruce, whose eyes skittered back toward his forgotten snack. “Just tell me, or I’ll have to get Fury to lend me some of that truth serum.”

“Fury doesn’t have access to truth serum.”

“You don’t know that, so the threat stands.”

The two of them stood like that, only a foot a part, for nearly an entire minute. In the expectant silence, Bruce tried desperately to concoct a believable lie. Dozens entered his mind, but fluttered out just as quickly. It wasn’t easy to lie to man like Tony Stark. With orange pith covering his fingers, Bruce took a moment to shift the fruit to his other hand before he finally spoke:

“I just…” He shrugged and looked down at the empty black counter next to him. “Ran into someone in the kitchen. It was no big deal.”

Tony leaned one elbow on said counter. “A workman?”

“No, I–I’m just being stupid. Forget it, Tony.”

“No, I will not forget it,” Tony said as he wagged a stern finger in Bruce’s face. “I want you to like living here. Spit it out, big man.”

Bruce heaved a sigh so heavy that his shoulders dropped an inch. When Tony continued to watch him expectantly, he waved his orange in the air and then answered, “The girl. From the grocery store.”

“Yeah, Pepper said she was coming over.” Tony’s brow furrowed with confusion. “What’s the matter?”

“You couldn’t have told me?”

“Why would I?”

“So I could have avoided her?”

The furrows deepened. “I don’t follow.”

The orange traveled from one hand to the other then back again as Bruce took several deep breaths. Tony wasn’t going to appreciate what he was about to say. But if Bruce didn’t say it, Tony wasn’t going to let up. He was well and truly tapped.

“I don’t want people knowing where I live, Tony,” Bruce said slowly, almost reluctantly.

Tony’s dark eyes narrowed as he arched his eyebrows and pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Bruce–” he began.

“Tony, don’t.” Bruce shook his head, and, finally, pulled out a segment of orange and placed it in his mouth. “I know you think I’m being silly, but trust me. I’m not.”

While he waited for Tony to come up with a rational response, Bruce bit down. Juice flooded his mouth, assuring him that, yes, his appetite had entirely left him. Seven months with no military after him didn’t mean that he could just get over his life patterns. Already his brain buzzed with packing plans, thoughts of how to get out of the country without notice, questions of where he could go that he had not been already.

“Why is it so bad that the grocery girl saw you?” Tony wanted to know.

“I…” Bruce paused, his now empty mouth working at some unformed answer. He’d already been over the problem with Tony time and time again. At first, things had been okay, but Tony wouldn’t stop pushing. Bruce knew, really, that all Tony wanted was what was good for him, but in that case, he couldn’t be more wrong about what was good for Bruce. “What if she tells someone?” he asked at last.

Tony’s eyebrows raised nearly into his hairline. “Who’s she going to tell?”

“One of her customers? Some news program? The military?” Bruce walked twitchily around the counter and took another bite of orange.

“Who does she know that’s in the military?” Tony wanted to know. “She works at a fruit stand.”

“You don’t know if she doesn’t know anyone in the military.”

“Why would she tell anyone? She doesn’t know who you are.”

“You can’t know that.”

“But I can make an educated guess.”

“That’s not enough!” Bruce froze as a familiar ripple of heat ran along the length of his body. His heart pounded raggedly in his ears; red seemed to swim across his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten. One of the nice things about Tony was that Bruce could get as agitated as he wanted. Tony wouldn’t run or lock him up or call anyone in to “take care of things.” But if Bruce let his moment of anger pass, all the little things that happened afterward would be in danger of setting him off just as badly. He didn’t want to repay Tony for his freedom by grinding him into a greasy smear on the floor.

After about thirty seconds, Bruce opened his eyes. Tony remained right where he had left him, looking entirely nonchalant as he drew patterns with his fingers on the surface of the table. “Everything under control?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, although his voice shook. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“I know. But I still want to.”

“If you must,” Tony said in his most pained voice. “At any rate, you were saying that my educated guess–which, if you look at how often my educated guesses prove right, is true–isn’t enough for you.”

“Can’t we talk about something else now?”

“Not until we solve this problem, big guy.”

“Look, I just feel more comfortable being anonymous. I like being here. I can work on all these projects, talk to you and Pepper, sleep underneath a roof every night. But I can’t do those things if anyone finds out where I’m at. They’ll send people to take me. They always do.”

“And we’ve got measures in place to take care of that. Fury isn’t going to let anyone come after you either.”

“I trust Fury about as far as I can throw him–as do you, as if I have to remind you.”

“No reminder necessary. But still. What can we do to convince you it’s safe here?”

“You can’t.”

“Bruce, you can’t live the life of a hermit forever.”

“Sure I can.”

Tony gave him a look-one of those that he was so adept at making, the kind that made everyone around him feel like a kindergartner, no matter their IQ. “No, you can’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because I said so.”

Bruce lifted his eyes heavenward. At least that seemed to be the end of it, for Tony fell silent, his gaze locked onto a diagram pinned to the back wall. Before Tony spoke again, Bruce’s orange disappeared into his butterfly-filled stomach. Once the last bite was swallowed, he rubbed his hands and glanced back over toward the lab table he’d abandoned nearly thirty minutes ago. Perhaps it was time to take another crack at that formula.

“A-ha!” Tony interrupted any such plans by snapping and throwing a triumphant finger toward the ceiling. “I’ve got it!”

“Got what?” Bruce asked. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“An idea.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes!” Tony strode around the table and took Bruce by the shoulders. “You are going to go out on a date.”

“What?” Bruce asked, after an appropriate amount of stunned silence.

“It’s brilliant–as are all of my ideas, really. We’re going to set you up on a date with the grocery girl. You go out, you talk, you find out she doesn’t have any plans to get you locked up in some high-tech cage, you kiss, you have sex, you go home happy.”

One by one, Bruce peeled Tony’s hands off his shoulders. “No.”

“Why not?” Tony demanded in a tone that suggested he might have stomped his foot at the same time, had he been a fourteen-year-old girl.

“Because I don’t want to talk, kiss, or have sex with her.”

“Why not?” Tony repeated.

“Why would I? I don’t even know this girl.”

“Thus the date. Pardon the colloquial, but, duh.”

“I’m not going out on a date, Tony. Not with the girl from the grocery store, not with the secretary downstairs, not with one of your interns, not with anyone.”

“Oh, come on. Why not?”

This time, Bruce gave Tony one of his own looks of extreme disbelief. “Have you met my enormous green rage monster?”

“When was the last time you had an incident again?”

“It doesn’t matter. The point is that he’s always there.”

“That’s not the only reason you won’t go,” said Tony shrewdly.

“Oh? And what’s the other reason?”

“You’re still not over Betty.”

Bruce’s heart sped again in his chest, but this time it was not with anger. For a moment, the room seemed to spin. Then he leaned his back against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “No,” he said simply, “I’m not.”

“And that’s why you need this. I’m not asking you to marry this lady or anything. I just think it would be a good idea if you went out and had a bit of fun. Betty is happy now, isn’t she? You can’t spend your whole life punishing yourself for disappointing her.”

“There are an awful lot of things I’m not allowed to do according to you.”

“Right.” Tony didn’t argue. “And one of those things is weaseling out of this date.”

“I’m not going on a date.”

“You are if I say you are.”

At last, Bruce had had enough. He threw his hands up in the air and stalked from the room. “I’m going to talk to Pepper. At least she’s sane.”

“Sane is relative term, Bruce!” Tony shouted after him.

Bruce, however, had disappeared, already off on his quest to find someone to complain about Tony to. But it was too late. No one ever could discourage Tony once he’d made his mind up about something.

#fan fic #straw writes #reader insert #second person pov #challenge fic #oh my dear #bruce banner #hulk #avengers #marvel #mcu #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #hulk x reader #hulk x you #hulk x y/n #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers x y/n #mcu x reader #mcu x you #mcu x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel x y/n

[dalamjisung]

your touch ❋ bambam

word count: 2070

genre: fluff

pairing: reader x bambam

description: it’s like you’re getting shocked every time you touch... what to do when you can’t touch your crush?

[this is a request from anon! I hope you enjoy it :) Hello! I would like to request a got7 scenario based on lullaby English version, the part that Bambam says "lovin' the touch of your fingers"? I know it's a sweet song, but I have been thinking in this part for a while and it can have others meanings, so... You think you can do something based on this?? Thank you for reading, hope you have a good day!]

The first time you touch is in the library when he hands you the book he wants to check-out. His fingers brush yours and he swears he can feel a jolt of electricity running down his body, awakening every nerve inside of him, making every hair stand up in alarm. This is new. Never had Bambam felt something like that, but it is cold outside and you are wearing a fluffy sweater so he shakes it off and blames it on the static. 

“Thank you,” He mumbles, avoiding your fingers when he grabs the book back. 

“No problem,” You smile. “See you in a week.”

“Why?” He automatically asks, frowning. He wonders if you felt it too…

“I’m assuming you’ll come back to return the book,” You say, slowly, as if you might make a mistake any time now, from the way he is looking at you. “Or you can just pay the fine. Your choice.”

He blushes and you hold in the laughter that ticket your throat to come out. He is already embarrassed, you won’t make it worse. Not inside the library, at least. 

“See you,” He sighs in defeat and marches outside, where a group of boys is waiting for him. You know a few of them, having seen them around the building or in some of your classes. Jinyoung is among them and you chuckle when you see him teasing his younger friend, elbowing his ribs and pointing back at you. 

You look at the computer in front of you and at the check-out log. Bambam, you think, rubbing your fingers against each other. Interesting. 

The next time it at the coffee shop, when Jackson pays for the beverages but Bambam is in charge of carrying them. You seem to be everywhere he is and the frustration that comes with it makes him less careful than he should be, hand fully landing on yours as he reaches for his drinks. The intensity seems to have leveled up and he visibly shivers, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. 

“What the fu–“ Bambam pulls back and you flinch with the sudden movement, the coffee cups toppling all over your arm. The hot liquid burns your skin and you are quick to run to the sink, allowing the cold water to relieve you from the pain. 

“Bam, what did you do?” One of his friends asks, but you laugh through the uncomfortableness of your skin, turning back to look at them.

“It was my fault,” You gently dry your arm and take a deep breath, ready to go back to work. “I’ll get you new ones right away.”

This time, you place the cups tray near your end of the counter and slides it to him, making sure to never touch his hand. You might’ve been okay with the feeling, but Bambam clearly wasn’t– getting hurt once was more than enough for you. 

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, face red. “I didn’t mean to–“

“It’s okay,” Your voice is tight from the pain still, but you really mean it. It’s fine. “I’ll be more careful from now on.”

You both know what you are talking about.

“Me too.”

The third time happens after many other times. Slight zaps here and there upon brief encounters, but the third time, oh man, the third time really messed him up. You meet at the end of the semester party, in one of the many frat houses around campus. The party is bigger than expected and you feel a bit intimidated once you go in, hiding behind your friends at any sign of trouble. A few guys come and go, trying to start a conversation, but you only smile politely at them and grab your friend’s hand, pulling them away with you. This goes on for a while and you are not sure you want to be there anymore, but then Jinyoung sees you and he immediately makes his way to your small group, smiling excitedly to everyone. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here!” He whines, pouting cutely right after and you laugh, sure that he is drunk off his ass. You two were friendly, but you wouldn’t say you’re friends. A couple classes together is enough to establish a sliver of a relationship with the man, joking around and talking pithing the confinement of the classroom, but you never really talked to him on the outside; seeing him like this is actually quite funny. 

“I didn’t really know I’d be here either,” You laugh, hand on his shoulder as a way to stop him from swaying too much.

“Come say hi to the guys!” He shouts, eyes wide as if he had had an epiphany. “They really want to meet you!”

“Me?” You ask, allowing him to guide you away. 

“Yeah!” He looks back to smile and his cheeks puff. “Bam talks about you all the time– they are curious!”

Oh, you think. This is new information. 

You reach the group of boys after a while, having to stop every now and then to say hi to someone, but once you do, Bambam’s face is priceless. He has a smile, almost as if he doesn't believe you are there, and yet, there is fear in his eyes. He takes a step back and you just nod at him, making sure that your hands are always behind your back, as if guaranteeing him that he’s safe around you. 

“Y/N,” He breaths out, eyes wide. “Hey.”

“Hey, Bambam,” You smile tightly, suddenly nervous. “Jinyoung brought me here.”

“I see that,” He coughs uncomfortably and then looks around. “Guys, this is Y/N. Y/N, these are–“

“You are the girl that keeps shocking him!” The tallest one shouts, an innocent smile on his face. “We love you! He’s always a mess around you!”

You don’t really know what to say so you just laugh, looking as Bambam downs his drink in one go.

“I’m gonna need more drinks for this,” He mumbles, looking around for beer.

“Me too,” You say, leaning towards him. It breaks your heart when he visibly flinches but what can you do? 

All your friends know about the ‘situation.’ They also know you’ve had a crush on the Thai student for a while now. Actually, everyone knows. You don’t really mind people knowing, to be honest, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. When people asked you about it you simply smile and shrug your shoulders and that’s the end of that conversation, as if you are admitting by defeat, almost like it wasn’t your choice to fall for Bambam. It just happened that way. 

This is supposed to be your romantic moment and you know it– both of you in a party, clearly attracted to each other (or at least you like to interpret the shocks this way,) but something still holds him back. And you don’t know if you should take it personally or not…

“What do you want?” Bambam asks once you follow him to the bar. “We have beer, vodka, tequi–“

“A beer,” You chuckle. Getting plastered and scaring him even further is not in your plans for the night, so you want to drink moderately. “Just… a beer.”

He nods and when he extends the drink to you, you take a moment to find a place you can touch, looking where his hands aren’t covering. With the tips of your fingers you carefully take the bottle, offering him a proud smile after successfully doing it.

“Thank you,” You breaths out, and you feels almost as if the music in the background fades, hearing only his voice. “I-I’m sorry about before I just–“

And you are not sure what exactly he’s going to say because a fight breaks out and people are screaming and running and a body falls on you and it’s instinctual, really, to reach out and grab the nearest person for  balance, but when that person turns to be Bambam, you retract, and your body falls to the ground. Your head hits the floor with a loud thud and people gasp, although you think they are more focused on the two guys punching each other blindly. You are not really worried about it until you heard the rapid steps coming your way, and you look to see that the fights is almost reaching you. 

“Shit shit shit,” You whisper to yourself as you try to get up, but you feel queasy and your legs shake as you try to stand. “Fuck.”

You have about ten seconds to stand, but you just can’t; not like this. Then you feel it– the familiar, powerful shock, running through your body from both your arms to your toes, leaving you gasping for air. Bambam pulls you closer quickly, one arm around your waist and the other holding your head to his shoulder. He turns around, pressing you against the table and shielding you from the oncoming threat. When the fight breaks and people are back to walking around the house, you are still in his arms, too afraid to move and make him step back, but he does it nonetheless. As soon as you feel his arms moving, yours go around him and pull him back to you, the sparkling sensation in your blood fading. 

“Don’t,” You whisper, head leaning back to look him in the eyes. “Don’t move.”

“But they left already,” Bambam frowns, confused.

“I know.” “Oh.”

You sigh. This is just awkward; you can feel how tense he is.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble, untangling yourself from the man. “I know you don’t want to touch me.”

“What?” He frowns again, deeper. “Says who?”

“Uh,” You scratch your head. “Me?”

“And why would you say that?” He gasps. 

“Because you flinch every time we touch,” You shrug. “It’s okay, I understand. It’s the weird shocking sensation and all, but–“

“I just scare easily,” He confesses, hands moving around wildly. “I really, really want to touch you, believe me. I know it’s a dumb excuse, but I wasn’t flinching because I didn’t want to touch you! It was because I was caught by surprise!”

“W-what?” You blush, and he shakes his head. 

“I thought that after the first shock, it wouldn’t happen anymore; thought it was just the static,” He explains, grabbing your hand, eyes unmoving from yours. Not one of you move, even when the electric current ends. “But it keeps happening. I low-key love it, though it scares me every time…”

“The shock?” Your eyes go wide.

He shakes his head. “Your touch. It’s comforting.”

“Bam…”

“Do you– Do you want to go somewhere quiet? Where we can talk?”

You just nod and he pulls you outside, ignoring the whistles of his friends and yours. 

Once you’re outside, sitting on a bench a few blocks away from the party, you grab his hand, basking on the low chuckle he lets out.

“I like you,” You say, looking at your hands. “And I’m pretty sure you know that.”

“Yeah, I do,” He laughs. “Everyone knows that…”

You feel your cheeks warming up, a small smile on your face in a feeble attempt to hide your nervousness.

“But everyone knows I like you, too,” He shrugs, pulling you closer and hugging you sideways. “So it’s okay.”

“I didn’t know that!” You exclaim and look at him as he chuckles and pets your head.

“Ah, you’re so innocent,” He jokes. “I’d always be staring at you.”

“But that’s just creepy,” You joke back. “How should I know you like me?”

“Hm,” He pretends to think. “How about this?”

When his lips touch yours, you feel like you’re on fire. Everything touches; your hands, your noses, your lips. When you realize, Bambam pulls you onto his lap, trying to hold you as close as possible, feeling the energizing sensation to the max. 

“Was this enough?” He asks, breath fanning over your face.

“No,” You breath out, surprised. “I don’t think there’ll ever be enough, Bam…”

“I think I can handle that,” He chuckles, and lets your get up. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” You ask as he pulls you.

“My place,” He says confidently. “Or yours, whichever one is closer.”

When he looks back, his eyes are question you, looking for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty. You blink, precessing his words, and then point behind you.

“My apartment is that way, two blocks over.”

-----------------------------

I know this is pretty short, but I hope you all like it nonetheless! Let me know what you think :P

#imagine #imagines #multifandom imagines #got7 imagines #got7 imagine #got7 #igot7 #i cry every single time #help im in love #Im Jaebeom #mark tuan #jackson wang #park jinyoung #choi youngjae #bambam #kim yugyeom #got7 fluff #one shot #kpop #kpop icons #kpop scenarios #scenario

[hisan-miren]

Redacted File

The Love Letter Pt 3

Raios was notably pissed off all throughout dinner with his sister shooting him smug glances and his parents stopping every now and then to look worriedly at him.

“Raios, is there something you want to tell the class?” his sister finally asked when his chopsticks kept breaking through his tofu.

“Fuck off,” he spat.  His sister must've heard what was happening from one of her customers. A few of his classmates had started to frequent her café after school, so it wasn't a stretch, but damn if she wasn't the last person he wanted knowing about his predicament.

“Raios,” his father stopped eating to shoot him a glare and scold him.  “You know that kind of language is not acceptable for a chief, let alone to speak to your family with.”  It irritated Raios to no end that his sister always got away with picking on him like this, but he knew it was also partially his fault for reacting.  Sadly, being quiet and taking it had never been something he was good at.  Raios' mother put down her chopsticks, the movements as fluid and regal as ever. She was really the epitome of the ideal chief's wife; calm, quiet, and elegant, but wielding plenty of authority when necessary.

“Now Raios, we can tell you're upset about something. It would do you well to discuss it to get your mind off it.”

“No thanks,” he ground out, stabbing at his fish again.

“Raios.”  He locked eyes with his father whose gaze made it very clear that his mother's kindness was not a request.  Raios grumbled and set down his chopsticks.

“… love letter…”

There was a collective confusion from his parents and a growing smugness from his sister.

“Mina got a love letter,” Raios ground out, now staring daggers at his grinning sister.

“Why is this a problem?  You two are a couple, so it stands to reason that Mina will reject it,” his father replied.

“… … …”

“Raios.”  An anger rose in his father's voice, but the boy remained remarkably silent.  “Raios, you and I both agreed: I will stop talks of arranged marriage only if you ask Mina out, and you assured me that would be done.”  Raios remained silent, a look of anxiousness and guilt replacing his usual anger.  

“I just…  I wanted to do this properly…”

“There’s no more time for ‘properly’, Raios.  You and Mina are both nearly a marriable age-”

“Oh come on!  No one on the island gets married at 16 anymore!  That custom’s beyond archaic!” Raios snapped.

“In. Any. Case!  If you do not court Mina soon, I will resume talks with other chieftains of the Orange Archipelago.  If you have not asked her in a week, then I’ll be travelling Kinnow to speak with their chief about his daughter,” his father said firmly, arms crossed and making it very clear that there was no room for negotiations.  “You’ve had two years.  Now you have one week.”

Raios gritted his teeth, and his hands gripped the chopsticks so hard that one of them snapped.  Raios wasn’t even sure he had that long.  In two days Mina was going to meet this guy (she hadn’t said she was going yet, but as far as Raios was concerned it was still a real possibility) and any chance Raios had of getting this to work out would go right out the window.

“Thanks for the food.”  Raios ground the words out like they were pith and dropped his chopsticks onto his plate before standing up and storming off, leaving half of his food.

An awkward silence followed until Mrs. Minori spoke up.

“You know, all of this could have been avoided if you had just told him in the first place that Mina was the one you’d been arranging for him to marry,” she said, raising her bowl to her lips to sip at the broth.  “But at least we know where he gets it…”

Raios was too antsy to wait for Mina the next day to go to school, so, instead, she was pleasantly surprised by the sight of him coming to pick her up in the morning.  She all but squealed when she saw him standing outside her house, but, remembering the events of the previous day, had to squash the feeling.

“R-Raios, uhh… it’s unusual for you to come pick me up.”  She could feel the corners of her mouth turning up as she tried to repress her grin, but Raios wasn’t looking at her.  In fact, he seemed unusually docile. “Raios?”  Now she was genuinely worried that she took her plan too far. Had what she’d done really affected him that much?

“Oh… sorry.  I got into an argument with the old man last night.  It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he replied.

“… Okay…  But you know you can talk to me about it… right?” she asked.  The furrow of his brows told her that he was feeling far more guilt and anxiousness than anger, but she didn’t even know where to begin.  Had her plot somehow caused the argument?  Or was what she’d done compounding on top of it? Now she was definitely regretting going about it the way she had.  She should have just asked him out and taken the dumb response so they could get into an argument and then she could maybe pound some sense into him.  But it was too late to tell him now.  She had no idea what kind of reaction he’d have.  He’d never been this unpredictable to her before.  They walked to school in relative silence with Raios clearly deep in thought the entire time.  Multiple times Mina thought to reach for his hand or give him a reassuring pat but didn’t knowing that it’s only be hypocritical coming from her.  When they got to their classroom, Raios remained pensive, just staring blankly out the window as the gears in his head kept turning on some seemingly impossible problem he had to solve.  She rarely saw him like this.  Granted she’d seen it once before, not long after they’d both turned 13, but it’d been quickly replaced within a week by his usual vigor and aggressiveness.  Disheartened, Mina put her face to her desk and sighed.  This was going to be a very long day.

By halfway through the day though, Mina had reinvigorated herself.  She’d decided!  When school was over, she was going to invite him to hang out and hopefully they could find their usual energy and get up to some kind of shenanigans! But, having spent the entire school day trying to think of ways to cheer him up, she found herself wholly unprepared to answer the question he posed to her when they were getting ready to leave.

“… What?”

“I asked if you’d decided what you’re doing about going to the docks tomorrow.”  His voice didn’t have the usual aggressiveness to it, but she could tell he was irritated.  She hadn’t actually thought about it.  How was she supposed to reply to a fake confession?  If she told him that she was going, then that all but told him she had no interest in him, but if she told him that she wasn’t, then her plan would be for naught.

“I um… I still haven’t decided,” Mina mumbled, eyes glued to the floor.  Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized one of his hands reaching out before pulling back.

“…Let me know when you figure it out,” he replied, walking off.  She didn’t even have the nerve to follow after him.  She just plodded along back home on auto pilot, even blocking out the conversation of Chise and Yuri the whole way back until she reached her bed and plopped down on it face first.

“This is the worst day ever,” she groaned into her futon.

#Redacted File

[somehow-on]

Notes - 2020

Wiping your ass is next to godliness.

I'd throw a fat man in front of a train for you.

I'm alone in the center of the universe, everyone else is just increasingly complex epicycles.

Everyone plans to empathize until they're punched in the mouth.

I'm always on time, I'm a true punc.

Do I talk to myself? I do everything to myself.

Stay woc.

Nihilist in theory, pragmatist in practice.

Vectorian Grey.

H2650-1, J-bend, 1.25 inch. Compression Washer.

Full grown, adult sized, bangeroos.

How about instead of doing everything shittily all at once, you do one thing well?

Third Riech Feminist.

Lee Moses - she's a bad girl

If I'm going to die on a hill it's going to be frigging mount hillaminjarro.

Never compromise nor coordinate.

Dump sack.

Tracing paper.

Sex, the world's oldest commodity.

Arm Q's: infection vs bursitis, bone spur, IV soreness, basketball, drinking, elevation, some reason antibiotics aren't working

I'm no racist, I voted for Biden.

I'm not a socialist, I'm a social distancer.

I'm a Hooverist.

Other people's money.

Stop taking my chances.

Beautiful/fertile, ugly/sterile.

Get good at hitting your target, or get good at coming up with excuses for why you missed.

Life is for the risk tolerant.

Never regulated.

Sicker than sars-cov'ers, higher than Mars rovers.

60 Watt, 75 Watt

No one has a clearer vision of the absence of truth at the center of existence.

The meek and the brash.

I'm jewlatto.

Your amazing ability to invent clever new ways to be miserable.

Barry White - I'm gonna love you just a little more baby

Admiral Sissy Mary.

Imagine sisyphus getting prizes.

social darwining not distancing.

Wyatt Dykeman.

My life in bits.

You should see the other 7 billion.

Eyes are the windows of the cell.

The Heat of Composition.

The arrows of time.

It's not free will that is the illusion, physical cause and effect itself is illusory, all there is is brain chemicals and/or qualia.

My life as a trophy case to my disillusionments.

Theories on life list.

What is a superstition but an illusion of control?

This country's been in the toilet ever since we elected that Catholic Kennedy.

X is a religion, but not because it's a ethics, but because it's an explanation. Nothing can be explained.

What does the urkel tv show have to do with anything?

Was the most popular girl out behind the school. - 2013

puts the miscue in promisuous. - 2013

It doesn't bother me that people call me fat; I'm just thick-skinned. - 2012

Parezewsky, Mozca.

Vanguard Commodity Fund. VCMDX.

Gleeconomist.

I'm just a tall, hairy, little girl.

Diligence. Due diligence. Owed diligence.

Get yur kit off.

Smart as a button.

Sysiphus laughing.

Bluff the devil.

To sugar in our boogers and cream in our jeans.

The one inch of spacetime in front of my face.

The matrix but it's your own brain simulating your life one second at a time.

God gave his only son as a false flag operation.

Shitposting cannot be refuted, it can only be repeated. - TIB

Can't be arsed.

Breath spilled.

To me, every bumper sticker is basically a swastika. Tattoo.

S. J. Perelman. Mort Sahl. George S Kaufman.

Wide eyes nights late lying awake.

I just wish I could do less.

Meaningless, purposeless, alienating, novelty.

You don't have to hold so tightly to your ideas of how the world ought to be. If you relax just a little it's not going to fall apart. It will still keep getting a little better every day, and you'll have given yourself some room to enjoy what is good in it.

Ethically-Sourced Sadism.

Pathos-Aggresive.

The answer to every question is either everything or nothing.

People are always trying to help me find my wallet.

For a while I was living in my car dealership.

Avoid work, acquire orgasms.

The real reward is the silence and nothingness you make along the way.

Our relationship is purely physical, she's my aerobics instructor.

Pogo - Walt Kelly

Ameianto - super combo. Liniker

MMT is just communism with extra steps.

Crown of mud.

Don't count other people's status.

The emperor is fully clothed but is actually just a homeless weirdo off his meds.

Repeater.

Blackface is offensive, I only ever do African-American-face.

We must protect the children and coincidentally my social status.

Jeff Bezus Christ.

Born and bred and dipped in butter.

VMBSX - mortgage backed securities

Your son is going to grow up loving me, so who's the real cuck after all?

Avarice.

The dead infant is fulfilled. Baby coffin.

Chiaroscuro.

Data Based God.

Laugh while you burn.

Boredom is gravity always pulling you back to earth. Comedy is ramp that tricks your penchant for boredom in to launching you for a brief moment into the sky and closer to God.

Nihilists know the price of everything and the value of nothingness.

Acquisitive.

Speak less, smilf more.

The world is my cloister.

Breads Benedict.

Hose down, pimp up.

Health, wealth, and mirth. Birth, worth, and mirth.

London Fog.

I don't want to be in any club that wouldn't have me as their president.

Recognize the future.

You only do two weeks anyhow, the week you go in and the week you go out.

Use my time machine to go back and kill clippy before he is ever shipped.

It's not about the size of the boat, but the ocean of lotion.

The weight room is where we determine the proper weights for our pitch randomizer.

Failed Utopia. Utopia of the failed.

South of the wall.

Mektoub, my love. Movie.

She wants me to take her to the pound town county courthouse to apply for a liquor license, if you know what I mean.

I only do two things, break hearts and chew gum. And I'm delivered a monthly subscription of gum.

Beckett-head Wendy. Wundy.

I'm a consummate consumer.

Billy Joel: The father of hip hop.

Bask & wallow.

There's nothing to be done. I'll do on. Call that doing, call that on.

Hell and madness: trying to control that which you cannot.

Only reason anyone does anything: to make friends.

We are all united against the past, but in a war against all for the future.

Elena ferrante, the lost daughter.

Paul oster, hunt for herman miller.

Reality is plastic - hypnotism book

Fund the police! Coming straight from the underground.

My life's just a $10M bit.

There's a method to my badness.

Good fences make good neighborhoods.

Someone's gotta keep the bad world from the door.

Dom-text.

Isolate your favorites.

Huey Newton and the Lootings.

Too hasty by far!

Drinking my Soylent, doing my thang.

We only like the beginning of things.

Johnnie Ray.

Having sex astride a grave, the love gleams an instant and then it's dark once more.

Give us this day our daily death.

Live small & petite mort.

There's no small lives, just petite morts.

Gems in the mud.

Mud-miner.

I let you lose.

Air, water, food, hugs.

Shut up, show off.

Friendship is forever, romance is by the hour.

A shoulder to sigh on.

Pithetic. Inspires pith.

Everything is dim, inapparently.

Cum-dumptruck.

Mr. Smarty.

Moist with meaning.

Covid-wife.

Cuddle to completion.

I'm a very adorable pervert.

Still chasing my perfect compliment. Ultimate.

You don't pay me to be doing something all the time, you pay me to do the right thing at the right time, and to know what and when that is.

Melo-chromatic.

Go with Goethe. Go with Godot.

Off-black.

Peddling my piddling wares.

Godot waits for me.

Thick-stick thespian. Dipstick lesbian.

To want something is beautiful, to get it is obscene. Cloying. Nauseating.

I'm not smart enough to say little, I have to say a lot.

Papa Pill.

Pall.

Patience Zero. Seize the delay. It gets better, then worse.

Worrier-Princess. Golden State Worrier.

I'm looking for someone out of my league physically, intellectually, and morally; who I will try desperately to hide all my shortcomings and flaws from until one of us dies, hopefully me.

Greylord.

[abbybubbls]

For Nostalgia (Wilford Warfstache and Darkiplier)

Summary: Dark tries to find Wilford’s pants, but finds something completely different.

--------------------------------------------

“Wilford, I have a very important question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Where the fuck are your pants.”

Wilford was being very indecisive that day. It took him half an hour explaining why he couldn’t find his favorite pants with a bunch of side stories that had absolutely nothing to do with Dark’s question. Or maybe Wilford just didn’t want to wear pants and he wanted his story to sound interesting. It all concluded to him not getting fired, so that’s a… plus?

“Can you tell me why you didn’t want to go without pants today?” Dark asked. Wilford felt offended.

“I just told you, I couldn’t find my favorite pair! What, you don’t believe me?”

Dark put his palms together. “Precisely.”

“I’ve looked through my closet for hours,” Wilford pouted. “None of my other pants fit me, that’s all.”

“You just wanted to go waist-down clothless,” Dark replied flatly.

“Not true!” Wilford exclaimed, pointing down at his feet. “I’m wearing socks!”

At least he’s wearing ‘boxers’ too, Dark thought, trying not to look. But it doesn’t explain why he doesn’t have his real damn pants on.

I am innocent, I swear~ Wilford made a smug face while looking at Dark without his lips moving.

Sure you are.

“Why don’t I look through your closet and find your pants myself, Wilford?” Dark asked out loud.

Wilford’s face flinched, exclaiming “No!” before covering his mouth with his hand. Dark’s face stiffened.

“Why not?”

Wilford cleared his throat and chuckled, waving his hand around his face. “O- Oh, you wouldn’t like my closet, Dark. You wouldn’t like my whole room at all! It gets so messy and everything is everywhere- Oh! And it’s so cramped! We both know how much you hate tight spaces!”

“I was just in your room three days ago, Will,” Dark’s tone lowered. “It was perfectly clean since then.”

Wilford scritched his chin. “Y- You know me, Dark. I see no mess, so I create the mess!”

“And I’ve been in worse situations when it comes to tight spaces,” Dark added. “I’m pretty sure your exit-able closet is more tolerable than a broken-as-all-hell elevator that we never use.”

“When you mean ‘we’, you mean you, cuz you’ve never used it since that incident-”

“I know what I meant.”

Wilford huffed and crossed his arms. “Well, I’ve got some things that are super important in my room! What does it take to not disrespect a man’s privacy around here?”

I’m fairly certain you don’t even know the half of it.

Dark eyed behind Wilford, and spotted the Captain Magnum near Wilford’s gun, that was quite dangerously lying on the counter.

“And who cares if I don’t have pants on?! I’ve run around like a moron without them during an interview before, and nobody seems to remember it!”

Dark pointed over Wilford’s shoulder. “Oh hey, Wilford, look. The Captain is touching your gun without your permission.”

Wilford gasped and gripped at his hair. “WHAT HAPPENED TO COMMON DECENCY?!”

He ran down the hallway with Dark covering the side of his face with his hand. “MAGNUM, DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH MY BABY!!!”

“It’s alive?! ”

Dark smirked, and quickly sent himself inside of Wilford’s room.

(Click keep reading, or read on my AO3!)

Just as Dark suspected, everything in the room was spotless. Only a dozen pieces of sticky notes of doodles and interview questions were scattered all over the floor, but it seemed like they were brushed aside near Wilford’s desk mirror right next to his door. Will’s bed was a mess as well, with the blankets draping over the other and pillows flattened, but Dark thinks he likes sleeping like that anyway. There was also a sparkled up fake fireplace with a rack of colorful suspenders hanging above it as if they’d be stockings, with the red-faded-to-pink pair hanging at the dead center.

I’m sure those all won’t overheat and catch on fire. Sarcasm.

Dark bumped into the closet door, seeing that the frame reaches to the very ceiling of Wilford’s whole room. It’s not like Captain Magnum is ever gonna sneak in, why is it so tall? No matter. Dark opened the closet door, only for an avalanche of clothes to fall right on top of him. Not enough to make him stumble over, for Dark is as sturdy as a boulder.

Dark yanked all the clothes off of him, and saw that MOST of them… were shirts. The clothes that were pants though…! Were either stained, torn up, or just straight up too small. Dark was going to suggest in his head that Wilford could wear his collection of tight shorts like layers, but that’d make him appear too… big.

“Goddammit, Will.”

Dark stepped over the pile of clothes to hesitantly get himself inside of the closet. His head bumps against a light bulb with a pulley-switch next to it. Dark didn’t really need to turn the light on because since he was wearing his new white suit for a change, and he’d practically be glowing more easier that way with his twins’ auras and such.

But just because he can, Dark turned the light on by pulling the switch. The closet was a tiny bit smaller than the elevator he never uses, but at least there’s an escape route. Dark looked around every nook and cranny in the closet to at least find one, one good pair of pants that isn’t too revealing, and so that Wilford would give in to wearing until he finds his ‘most favorite’ pair soon. But if that doesn’t happen, it could be the goldfish situation where Dark buys or makes the same pair, and Wilford wouldn’t even know the difference.

There was a very tall shelf at the end of the closet, and Dark tried to reach up to the top to grab something, any thing… only to have a tan round thing fall off and land on the floor. Dust was flying, enough dust for Dark to almost hack and choke on while coughing it all away. And waving his hand around was definitely helping. “What the hell-?”

As soon as the dust died down to the floor, Dark rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. The helmet rolled on its side for a moment, and wobbled near the wall. It was Wilford’s old old old old old pith helmet.

Dark stared at it for a long minute, knowing perfectly well that Wilford wouldn’t remember having this helmet, not even remember being a colonel.

Dark picked the helmet up from the floor, and gently brushed the dust away. He looked up at the shelf. “He wouldn’t happen to have the rest, would he…?”

A corner of a sleeve was hanging from the very top of the shelf. To avoid the possibility of getting dust all over the place again, Dark put the helmet down on a lower shelf and stood on his tip-toes, and reached up with both of his hands tugging on edges of old linty clothing. His grip on both edges tightened, and he slowly lifted a neatly folded pile of bright tan clothes off the top of the shelf.

“No,” Dark muttered, blinking away dust. “There is no way…”

Indeed, it was 100% Wilford’s old outfit for when he was a colonel from the early 1900’s. Dark already had questions running through his head. How in the world does Wilford still have this? When did he put it in the closet? Why does Wilford still have this outfit after all these years, even when he’s so far gone from who he was?

Dark slowly brushed the grime and lint off of a small, silver winged metal that is still pinned on the coat. Same with a red and white metal on the other side.

Dark had no idea where Will’s red ascot went, it probably faded to pink like his suspenders and turned into the bowtie he still wears to this day. And Will’s glasses were definitely snapped apart, or shattered, or burnt when he realized that even seeing clearly didn’t matter to him anymore. All that is left is the pith helmet, the coat, pants (finally!), and the boots, which were surprisingly very well hidden in the darkness of the bottom shelf. Will shouldn’t have these.

Wilford’s voice from outside of his room gradually got louder, but that didn’t phase Dark at all. He had a few questions to ask. Chances are, Wilford might not know all the answers, but it’s worth a try to ask anyway.

“You may be taller than all of us, but it ain’t gonna phase me, Captain!” Wilford shouted, shaking a fist. “You wanna know why? Cuz Warfstache don’t take no sh(BLEEP!)t from nobody! ”

With a slam of his door, Wilford looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I should really fix that swear-detector thing.”

“Wilford.”

Wilford hiccuped, seeing Dark standing right in front of him with his hat, boots, and the rest of Will’s outfit in his hands. “Hiiiiiiiii…!”

Dark’s face was frozen in place, stern. “Care to explain to me what these are all about?”

Wilford was grinning nervously. “W- Well, they’re um- they’re winter clothes!”

“We live in Ca-”

“Traveling vacation winter clothes!”

“You know, depending on how much Mark uses us for projects, we’re technically almost always on vacation,” Dark said. “We’ve never traveled once.”

Wilford’s face dropped, and Dark took a step forward.

“So, Wilford,” he continued. “What are these clothes here for?”

“I- I found it in a zoo! I won it for a bet!”

“Wilford.”

“I don’t know!” Wilford exclaimed, throwing fists like a child. “I’ve always had them in my closet! I don’t remember what they’re for, but they give me warm fuzzy feelings, maybe a tiny memory or two.”

“A bad memory or a good memory?”

“I dunno, does it matter that much to you?” Wilford asked. “The good and bad don’t matter to me, cuz they’re useless memories! Memories that’ll come back and disappear from my head like always!”

Dark didn’t know exactly what to say to that. Why would he care about somebody else’s memories and whether they’d be good or bad? It’s like having someone constantly looking over your shoulder. Sure, Dark has been invasive when it came to Wilford being a pain in the ass, but Dark only did it because he didn’t want Wilford to cause any more trouble than he already did.

Wilford pouted with his arms crossed, and looked down at the floor as if he’s been ashamed of himself… for some reason. Dark stared down at the pile of clothes in his hands. His grip tightened, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, Will,” he muttered. Wilford blinked at him. “I didn’t mean to make this appear as a bigger deal than it should be.”

And all of this started because of pants.

“Have you…” Dark continued. “Worn this outfit lately?”

Wilford’s frustrated and hurt face softened. “Not in a while, no.”

“I was just wondering because of how much dust it was collecting,” Dark’s tone went gentle. “Have you thought about wearing it?”

Wilford’s hands were gripping on his sleeves loosely. “Kind of.”

Silence filled the room. Dark’s hands leaned forward. “Here. You can wear it. If you’d like.”

Without saying anything, Wilford hesitantly held the outfit out of Dark’s hands, and kicked some clothes out of his way as he headed inside his closet. Dark sat down at the edge of Wilford’s bed, waiting patiently.

A moment later, and Dark heard the closet door open. The familiar sound of boots slowly walking on the floor filled the room, and Dark saw Wilford in the entire outfit. He looked the same as he did a long time ago, only the mustache stands out a LOT more now than it did before.

Wilford was still doing the last few buttons of his coat as he left the closet, and Dark just noticed the wearing out on them. The belt around Wilford’s waist was a bit loose, but there was nothing for it to hold anyway.

“How does wearing all of that make you feel?” Dark asked.

Wilford’s hands rubbed all over his arms, and he tucked his face in his collar. “Warm, mostly! Gives me a trip of nostalgia.”

“You know how you said earlier you don’t remember what the outfit was for?” Dark asked, head tilting. “Maybe nostalgia is why.”

The front tip of the pith helmet was hiding Wilford’s eyes, which he did not like. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t remember a whole lot, just a few baby pieces.”

“I see no problem with that,” Dark replied, smiling gently. His watch hidden in his sleeve beeped. “Meeting. Wilford, do you want to go dressed like that?”

Wilford took his helmet off, tossed it on his bed, and ruffled his hair. He and Dark went over to his door. “Why not? It’s cozy and makes me feel good. And I did find pants so you wouldn’t be staring at me all day~”

As Wilford opened the door, Dark smacked his back. “Shut up.”

#markiplier #a heist with markiplier #who killed markiplier #takes place after the 'The Interview' ending #wilford warfstache #darkiplier #darkstache #i've posted this on DA and AO3 #why am i so nervous posting this on tumblr #probably because i'm a noob in this site #oh well

[zerotometal]

Uses for food scraps around the house

Note: I took a lot of these suggestions from this Mother Nature News article 

1. Clean greasy messes: Sprinkle affected area with salt or baking soda and then rub with juiced lemon halves. (Do not use on granite or marble!)

2. Shine your coffee pot:  Add ice, salt and lemon rinds to an empty coffee pot, swirl around for a minute or two, dump and rinse well.

3. Clean your kettle: For mineral deposit build up in tea kettles, fill with water and a handful of lemon peels, and bring to a boil. Turn off heat and let sit for an hour, drain and rinse well.

4. Make citrus extract powder: Take the zest or twists of citrus (being sure to remove the pith and allow to dry, about three or four days) Put in a spice grinder and pulverize into a powder. Store in a clean jar.

5. Make citrus sugar: Make citrus extract powder and add it to sugar, or you can use fresh twists, put them in a jar with sugar, let the oil from the peel infuse the sugar and remove after a few days.

6. Make lemon pepper: Mix lemon extract powder with pepper.

7. Make zest: If you've juiced lemons, limes, oranges or grapefruit but don't have an immediate need for zest, you can make it anyway and dry or freeze it for future use. Zest is a versatile item to have on hand for a bright boost in any number of dishes. If you don't have a microplane or zester, you can also use the small side of a box grater. Try to scrape just the outer layer, the white layer of pith is bitter. Freeze in an airtight container. To dry, spread the zest on a towel and leave until dried, then store in a clean jar.

8. Make candies: cut citrus rinds into thin 1/4″ slice and leave to dry overnight. Make a simple syrup solution of 2 cups sugar to one cup water and boil. Once at a rolling boil, dump in citrus rinds and let steep for 10 minutes. pull out and let dry over night. Dip in melted dark chocolate the next day for some knock off Godiva goodness.

9. Make citrus olive oil: Pound citrus peel (pith removed) in a mortar and pestle with some oil added. Place in a jar with more oil and let rest for six hours. Strain into a clean jar. I love using this oil for salad dressings.

10. Make infusions: Infuse vinegar with citrus peels by placing twists in the liquid and letting the flavors seep. Strain vinegar into a bottle, and add 10 parts water to 1 part citrus vinegar solution, store in a clean spray bottle, and use as window cleaner.

11. Make potato chips: Mix potato peels with enough lemon juice and olive oil to evenly coat, sprinkle with salt. Spread the potato peels in a layer on a baking sheet and cook at 400 degrees, stirring once, until golden brown (about 10 minutes). 

12. Make stock: Boil potato peels, onion skins, carrot peels, leek ends, etc. for vegetable stock. 

13. Boost soup and stock: Cheese rinds can be placed in soup stocks for an awesome secret boost of flavor and texture. Just make sure once your soup is done cooking to take out what is left of the rind.

14. Add 'meat' to greens: Cheese rinds can also be added to braised greens for added depth of flavor.

15. Keep brown sugar soft: If you regularly fall victim to the brick in the pantry known as hardened brown sugar, try adding some lemon peel to keep it moist and pliable.

16. Make vanilla sugar: If you use fresh vanilla, after scraping the bean, add the pod to sugar to make vanilla-infused sugar.

17. Refresh your face: For a skin tonic, rub orange or grapefruit peels on your face (avoiding the eyes) and then gently rinse with warm water.

18. Moisturize: Rub the fleshy part of an avocado peel on your face for a rich moisturizer.

19. Relieve your peepers: Potato peels and cucumber ends can reduce puffiness around eyes; press the moist side of the fresh peels to the skin for 15 minutes.

#mother nature news #sustainability #sustainable #waste not want not #food waste #zero waste #don't waste #zerowaste #zero waste lifestyle #going zero waste #save your money #Save the Earth #citrus #reduce reuse recycle #reduce your carbon footprint #reduce reuse recycle refuse and rot #vanilla sugar #DIY Projects #diy beauty #going green #go green #do good #going vegetarian #vegetables

[jancmalandra]

Moominpapa Steps Up

On not taking yourself so seriously

Bright and early Sunday morning, Moominpapa, Moomintroll, Snufkin, Tayberry, and Moomin all packed their backpacks with their towels, bedrolls, blankets and pillows. They each brought their fishing poles. They divided the cooking equipment and their favorite picnic food between them. The group set off for the cave on the beach marching merrily to the tune Snufkin played on his harmonica. They reached the cave and set up their bedding and then chose a nice nearby spot on the beach to set up a fire pit.

Moomin had discovered an old fashioned black bathing dress and swimming cap in the third floor costume wardrobe two years ago and fell in love with it and now they always wore it when they went to the beach. Moomin, Tayberry, and their father and grandfather immediately wanted to get in a little swimming before breakfast to refresh themselves and work up an appetite.

As they swam, Snufkin cast his line into the surf and watched them all with a big smile on his face. After twenty minutes Moominpapa, Moomintroll and the children rejoined him on the beach. He had caught one fish for each of them. As they waited for their fishes to roast and ate them on the spits, Moominpapa began his story.

"From what I've told you of how my life began and my adventures with the crew of The Oshun Oxtra, especially of how I came to found a colony in the Autarch's palatial estate, you might have come to some incorrect conclusions. Specifically, you might have thought that Mama and I married when we were too young for it. Between the time when The Muddler married his Fuzzy bride, The Joxter left with The Mymble, and Hodgkins became The Autarch's Court Inventor and the time I met Mama, there was a span of six years that I spent living an even more lawless and wild life than The Joxter! I've been avoiding telling these stories out of fear of looking silly, but I've finally realized that that is inevitable for anyone trying to live an adventurous life. Once Mama returns I'll publish them once and for all! They're much too good to be left untold!"

"The colony I had started grew in numbers all on its own as various odd vagabonds came our way one way or the other. We only met together for picnics and parties. With Hodgkins living out his dreams in the Autarch's Garden Of Surprises, I could think of no way of continuing to fulfill my own dreams of having adventurous voyages. I found myself unable to hibernate the Winter after the three of us in the crew of the Oshun Oxtra went our separate ways and decided to relieve my frustration by making constant improvements on the first house that I had built on my own. By the time Spring came around it had become the Moominhouse that you all know today."

"I spent early Spring that year surf fishing every morning and looking out at the ocean forlornly. As much as I loved the home I had built, it was already beginning to feel like a prison. Then, one morning I saw the most extraordinary sight out on the ocean; Hattifatteners, tens of thousands of them, in their tiny boats rowing past my beach. I was instantly inspired to follow them no matter the cost. I thought that if they could set out on the open sea in tiny canoes, an enterprising young Moomin such as myself should be able to do much better!"

"It took me a week of determined effort to build a sailboat about the size of The Adventure. Come to think of it, I never did think of a name for my vessel or bothered giving it a proper launching. I was far too eager to get started. It's a wonder that things turned out as well as they did!! I packed up all the camping equipment, food and other supplies that I could lay my paws on in my boat and headed out to sea in pursuit of the Hattifatteners!"

"I immediately experienced the dangers of sailing on the open ocean when my boat got caught up in a powerful current. It dragged my boat along through both storms and windless days at an amazing pace! I caught up to the Hattifatteners in less than a month. I saw all of their boats beached on a very large island and made land myself and followed them inland."

"The island's owner was the most remarkable Moomin, apart from myself, that I've ever met. In the middle of the jungle that covered most of the island he had built a rambling Moominhouse out of parts of sunken ships he had discovered on the reef that surrounded the island. He called himself Colonel Higgins, although I was always sure that wasn't actually his name. He dressed in British Army fatigues and a pith helmet and wore a monocle and had a very impressive mustache which he would constantly groom with a small comb. He cut quite an impressive figure, especially to a young, impressionable Moomin such as I was at the time! He told me all about the Hattifatteners and their life of constant wandering as he showed me around his island. He had turned his island into a personal wildlife preserve for his own hunting pleasure. It was he who gave me my blunderbuss and taught me how to live in the wilderness, hunt, and shoot over the next two weeks."

"Now, before anyone gets too worried, I should be clear that neither one of us could shoot for anything. We would always scare our prey and every other living thing on the island away with our first shot. We always wound up fishing for our dinners, and the island provided plenty of fresh fruit on top of that."

"Colonel Higgins explained to me that Hattifatteners always waited on islands for a really spectacular thunderstorm to recharge themselves for the next part of their voyage and to leave their seeds behind. He and I watched them set up their lightening rod and gather around it as a very large storm approached. You never forget the first time that you see Hattifatteners being struck by lightning, as you all well know."

Moominpapa and his family moved from one beach activity to the next all day. Every time that they came to a resting point, Moominpapa would continue his story. Finally, they were all gathered in the cave under their covers for the night and Moominpapa finished his story for the day by the light of an oil lantern.

"The following morning, the weather cleared and the Hattifatteners began piling into their tiny boats and leaving the island. I explained to Colonel Higgins that I felt compelled to follow them. He understood completely, being an adventurer himself, and bid me a very fond farewell. He resupplied me with fresh fruit and dedication to a life of adventure."

"For two years I followed the Hattifatteners from island to island and lived a completely untamed existence. I learned all that there is to know about sailing and surviving at sea by trial and error, and I wouldn't have it any other way now that I think about it."

"At the end of September of my second year at sea, I and the Hattifatteners washed up on an entirely different island altogether, and I began a very different chapter of my life. The island I had found was Manhattan."

At this everyone else in the cave gasped in surprise and pressed Moominpapa to continue his story.

"I'll tell you what.", said Moominpapa, who was really enjoying himself, "We'll go back to Moominhouse in the morning. Every night before we go to bed, I'll tell the next part of the story, IF you all have done your part in taking care of Moominhouse. I'll be finished by Friday, when we'll spend the morning preparing a proper welcome home celebration for Mama, Snork Maiden, and Little My."

Everyone else agreed somewhat reluctantly to Moominpapa's conditions, and then he blew out the lantern and they all did their best to fall asleep despite their eager anticipation for the rest of the story.

To Be Continued

#moominvalley #moomintroll #snufkin #moomin oc #the hattifatteners

[eveningstarcatcher]

Anthiana Jones (Crowley) and the Lost Book

For the Great Good Omens Snake Off Also available to read on Ao3! Inspired by a conversation with a friend and @whiteleyfoster’s amazing art  (Thanks to @summerofspock for organizing the event!)

“I told you that you didn’t have to come along, my dear.” Aziraphale chided softly. He held a white pith helmet in his hands, a sturdy explorer jacket replaced his usual antique coat, and tall brown spats covered his boots and lower legs. His pale hair was golden in the torchlight, his blue eyes laughed and wrinkled around the edges. It was absolutely endearing and Crowley hated it.

“Though I do think you’re enjoying the warm weather. Egypt is lovely this time of year, isn’t it?” the angel added, distracted by a particularly interesting symbol carved into the wall. 

“I wasn’t going to let you go alone. Get yourself discorporated.” Crowley muttered as he paced ahead down the dim tunnel, holding the torch aloft, casting long shadows against the hieroglyphic- and cobweb-covered walls behind him. Aziraphale, noticing the fading light, hustled to keep up with the demon’s long strides.

“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.” Aziraphale’s voice wavered slightly, as if holding back a laugh.

“Oh! Are you?” Crowley stopped suddenly and turned on his heel, causing Aziraphale to stumble against his chest, clutching at Crowley’s shoulders to regain his balance. “Last time I checked, this isn’t the first time I’ll be around to save you. Remember the Bastille?” He was thankful for the black lenses blocking his eyes from view. 

“Of course I remember!” Aziraphale’s cheeks were flushing pink, his hands still resting against the black fabric of Crowley’s shirt. “How could I forget?” he added quietly, the ghost of a smile dusting over his lips.

“Well, then, you know why I have to be here. Foolish angel’s bound to get himself into trouble.” Crowley ensured that Aziraphale was firmly settled onto his own feet, then stepped away.

“I like the new look,” the angel cast him a cheeky side glance as he adjusted his vest, smoothing it down over his soft stomach. “Though the footwear’s a bit much.” He chuckled as he gave Crowley a once-over, lips pressed into a thin smirk. 

Crowley’s travelling outfit consisted of sleek black boots that came up over his knees, giving way to tight maroon trousers. He had pushed the sleeves of his black button-up above his elbows, revealing freckle-spattered skin that glistened as he shifted the torch from one hand to the other.

“Are we at least going the right way?” Crowley rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, cocking a hip, watching as Aziraphale consulted the ancient map, his hands moving gently over the parchment, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“I do believe so. If we just continue down this way,” he gestured to the path behind Crowley, “we should be there in no time at all!” He beamed up at Crowley and carefully rolled the map up and replaced it into a leather blueprint tube, securing the lid, and sliding the strap across his chest, letting the document settle against his back.

“Alright, let’s go, then.” Crowley sighed and strode off down the tunnel, Aziraphale only a step behind.

“Wait, Crowley! We should be careful. There were numerous warnings in the texts.” Aziraphale’s hands worried at the strap across his chest, eyes scanning the floor and walls for signs of danger.

“Warnings about what?” Crowley huffed. “The demon that lurks the halls? I’m on your side, angel.’

“Yes, I know that, Crowley,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “But the texts were quite clear that were could be several-”

His words were replaced by yelps and screams as the floor disappeared under their feet, giving way, leaving them to tumble into the darkness below. They landed with heavy thuds.

“- traps.” Aziraphale finished breathily, splayed on his back against the cool stone, the document tube nestled against his chest. His hat had been lost during their sudden descent and he had landed on his hip before rolling to his back, the sharp pain fading as he brushed a hand over it.

“Thanks for the warning.” Crowley coughed out. He had landed in a puddle of limbs, tangled and curled in on himself. He sorted himself, sitting up and lifting a hand to his head, which was pounding from the impact, pulling it away to find blood smeared on his fingertips. He groaned from annoyance more than from pain.

“I did try,” Aziraphale pushed himself up to sit, trying to see into the darkness.

“Not hard enough!” Crowley snapped, wiping his hand on his trousers. “Still fell into this damn pit!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale spoke softly, apologetically.

He felt the angel’s soft hand on the exposed skin of his forearm and he fought the urge to place his hand over it. He wasn’t ready to let go of his frustration quite yet.

“I am sorry for dragging you into this, but I am awfully glad to have your company.”

“Didn’t drag me into anything, angel. My decision.” Crowley grumbled, pulling away from Aziraphale’s touch to feel for the extinguished torch. When he located it, he pulled to toward himself, snapping his fingers to set it alight, then stood, offering his free hand to the angel. “Now let’s find a way out, yeah?”

Aziraphale placed his hand in Crowley’s and let himself be lifted to his feet. 

“Thank you, my deee-AAGH!” Aziraphale screamed and scrambled closer to Crowley, wrapping his sturdy arms around the demon’s chest from behind, pushing and pulling against Crowley’s body in an attempt to climb up onto his back.

“ANGEL!” Crowley yelped, nearly dropping the torch in an effort to keep Aziraphale from sliding off, wrapping his free arm behind him to support the angel.. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

“LOOK!” Aziraphale had managed to settle himself against Crowley’s back, his legs wrapped around his narrow hips, his arms firmly set around his neck. He released one arm just long enough to point, his head burying itself in Crowley’s shoulder.

He lifted the torch and the golden glow cast light further across the floor, which was dark, but alive. It moved in all directions, smoothly, without sound.

“Snakes?” Crowley laughed. “Angel! It’s just snakes!”

“Yes, I am very well aware of that!” Aziraphale panicked against Crowley’s shirt.

“You’re not afraid. Tell me you’re not afraid of snakes.” Crowley’s body was trembling with stifled chuckles.

“It’s not funny!” Aziraphale cried, distressed.

“It is! It’s actually hilarious! I’m a snake, angel!” He was fighting the urge to double over as his body shook with laughter.

“You’re one single snake! This is a room full of them! And I know you! I don’t know what they’ll do to me!” Aziraphale was whining now, shifting himself further up Crowley’s back, holding tighter.

“M’bigger than all of ‘em put together.” Crowley mused. “And they’re not going to do anything to you! Promise.”

“You don’t know that! Tell them to go away!” Aziraphale fussed.

“You’ll have to get down, you know.” Crowley placed a calming hand on Aziraphale’s arm.

“Must I?” his voice was small.

“Just for a minute. I promise, nothing will happen to you. Trust me?”

Crowley felt the angel’s iron grip loosen as he slid down to his feet.

“Always, my dear.” He smiled nervously and tried not to flinch as he registered movement from just beyond the circle of light.

“Just stay here,” Crowley pushed the torch into Aziraphale’s hand, giving it a gente squeeze before he pulled away. “I’ll be right back.” 

He slid downward gracefully, black scales shimmering in the flickering light, starting at his feet and working their way upwards until all that remained of Crowley’s familiar face were the slitted yellow eyes that Aziraphale so rarely got to see. He was coiled in on himself, large and powerful. His muscles rippled beneath his scaled skin as he stretched out his serpentine form, slithering around the circle of light, hissing softly. 

Aziraphale’s eyes trailed after him. It had been thousands of years since he’d last seen Crowley in this form and it was exquisite. The way his skin shimmered in the torchlight, the elegance of his movements, the wide, unblinking eyes that watched him as he circled the angel, a familiar and reassuring gesture.

He shortened his orbit, moving closer to Aziraphale, then came to a stop as he curled his body in a ring around his feet, nose touching tail, creating a barrier between the angel and the other snakes.

He hissed long and loud and the room grew still for a few long moments. Aziraphale held his breath, one hand against his chest, as if to dampen the sound of his heart thudding and thundering against his ribs.

There then came a chorus of smaller hisses as the snakes shifted, the dark mass moving to the outer edges of the room, not unlike the parting of the Red Sea, clearing a path across the room. 

Crowley slithered forward down the path, then paused, lifting his head and turning back to Aziraphale. He inclined his head towards the opposite side of the room, then continued on his way. The angel hesitantly followed, stepping carefully, as to avoid any other traps or snakes. 

Crowley led him across the large, cavernous room they had landed in, through a large archway, down a narrow hallway and into another room. This room was much smaller, claustrophobic. 

“Probably better that you’re in this form, my dear.” Aziraphale’s curls nearly brushed the ceiling. Crowley hissed gently in a response that might have been a chuckle. 

“Is this the right way?” 

He received a small nod from Crowley, who continued his serpentine path along the stone floor, to something that resembled an altar. It was long and low, carved with images of gods. Scattered along the top were idols and offerings of jewelry and metalwork. Nestled among the gifts was a large tome, bound and wrapped in cloth, as if mummified in this tomb. Aziraphale gasped at the sight of it.

“Is this it?”

Crowley slithered around, curling himself loosely around Aziraphale’s legs and waist, lifting his head to get a better look as the angel set the torch down against the altar. He reached out and gingerly lifted the cloth away, setting it aside. 

“I do wish I had my gloves,” he muttered, causing Crowley to hiss in exasperation, as if to say just get on with it.

“Yes, yes. Alright!” Azirpahale replied, lifting it delicately between his wide hands, his eyes huge with anticipation, an astonished grin spreading across his face.

“Crowley,” he breathed. “Thank you!”

He took careful, measured breaths as he gently opened the brown cover, which was crumbling at the corners, eyes moving furiously across the ancient pages, soaking in every marking. 

“It’s incredible! Dangerous, but incredible!” He beamed at Crowley, whose annoyance was finally waning, softened by the joy on his angel’s face. 

“I will need to study this in better conditions, of course, but I must thank you for your help, Crowley.” He gingerly shut the book, giving his full attention to his companion. “I doubt I’d have made it this far without you. I hope you know that I-”

Just then there was a rumble and a large cracking noise, which reverberated through the small room. The ground shook and the objects across the altar vibrated and clattered.

“What’s happening?” Aziraphale stood, frozen, eyes wide and panicked. “Earthquake?” He clutched the book to his chest and stared at Crowley.

As much as snakes can sigh, Crowley did, as he wrapped himself more tightly around his angel, then uncoiled and slithered away. He had to double back and nudge Aziraphale into moving before they made it out of the small room, down the narrow corridor, and into the cavernous space they had fallen into.

As he slithered towards the spot they had landed Crowley began to shift forms. His dark, scaly skin became pale and leathery, the powerful tail split into two lithe legs. Arms folded out from his sides, and, finally, smirking lips and tousled red hair appeared as the transformation was completed. 

Bits of stone were falling from the ceiling and the pillars scattered about the room began to crumble, sunlight streaming in through cracks in the roof.

Aziraphale weaved around the debris as quickly as he could, but was falling behind. He was breathing hard, his feet unsure, his arms cradling the book.

“Crowley!” He cried as he lurched to a stop, narrowly avoiding some serious damage to his corporation as a large chunk of pillar toppled in front of him.

“Wings, angel!” Crowley instructed as he dashed back to Aziraphale. He grabbed his elbow, practically lifting him off his feet and carrying him to the entrance. 

As instructed, Aziraphale pearly white wings burst into view, as did Crowley’s iridescent black feathers, careful not to injure the other or push him away.

“Now!” Crowley hissed in his ear, then pulled away as they beat their wings, a powerful movement that lifted them out of the pit, Crowley letting Aziraphale take the lead. They were gliding down the tunnel towards the entrance, wings cramped, but carrying them far more quickly than their feet would have as the destruction continued behind them.

They burst into the cool night air and Crowley whooped as he somersaulted and twirled through the air.

“That was an adventure! And to think, I almost missed it!” he laughed, bright, clear and joyous.

“Really, dear! We were almost discorporated!” Aziraphale was breathing heavily, dropping down to his feet and folding his wings away.

“You were almost discorporated. I was doing just fine.” Crowley dropped down beside him, a wide grin gracing his sharp features.

“I beg your pardon!” Aziraphale’s brow was furrowed tightly, but his eyes twinkled with good humor.

“No need to beg, angel. S’why I came along, isn’t it? To keep you out of trouble? Sure hope it was all worth it!”” Crowley snatched the book from Aziraphale’s arms and flipped through it, earning him a symphony of stuttered reprimands.

“Please don’t! You’re handling it all wrong! Crowley! Please! It’s very delicate!” Aziraphale reached around, trying to take the book, but the demon held it just out of reach. “Crowley!” he pouted, crossing his arms and pushing out his lower lip.

“Fine,” Crowley surrendered, holding the book out and allowing the angel to take it. He was never good at denying Aziraphale.

The angel shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it protectively around the tome.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale sighed, once again pressing it against his chest.

“You do realize you could have just miracled the snakes away, right?” Crowley smirked, brushing some dust off of his sleeve.

“No! I- well- that is to say,” Aziraphale sputtered, “you could have as well!” “Could’ve, but my way was much more fun!” Crowley winked dramatically, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Fun? Ostentatious, perhaps, but not fun.” Aziraphale chided.

“No need to pretend, angel! I know you, and I know you love a good show!” Crowley began to walk back towards the town.

“It’s not a show when my life… er… corporation is in danger! Not to mention the trouble the humans could have gotten up to with this book! Best if I keep it safe.” He patted the book with one hand, letting the other fall to his side.

“Always looking out for humanity,” Crowley smiled softly, his hand falling to his side, gently brushing against Aziraphale’s. His heart fluttered in his chest.

“Well someone’s got to.” The angel’s cheeks burned crimson. “It’s rather a good thing I’ve got someone looking out for me, too, don’t you think?” He turned to smile at Crowley, soft and serene in the moonlight.

“Shut uuuup.” Crowley rolled his eyes and curled his pinky finger around Aziraphale’s.

#ggoso #great good omens snake off #great good omens snake-off #my writing #good omens #gofic #go fic #aziraphale #crowley #snake crowley #ineffable husbands