#Blues and Roots festival

[microwavesex]

running errands all day and then seeing Black Christmas (1974) at the theatre tonight !!

[aprillikesthings]

Somewhere out there is the guy who, at Monterey Pop, while Jefferson Airplane was playing High Flying Bird, during the ...rest? pause? near the end of the song, yelled

"Oh, yeah!!!"

and was memorialized forever on the live recording. Anyway if he's alive he's gotta be in at least his 70's, and does he even remember it? Does he even KNOW he was on the recording??

It's just past 3min 40sec on spotify, and it's just past 3:35 on youtube; either way you have to be wearing headphones or turn it up a bit:

[sinceileftyoublog]

Shemekia Copeland Interview: Break It Down to the Basics

Photo by Dave Specter

BY JORDAN MAINZER

A couple weeks ago, in speaking with Shemekia Copeland over the phone, I called her out. Though her new album Blame It On Eve, out Friday via Alligator Records, is her purported attempt to make an album that's a "break from the news" instead of "breaking news," she still sings about doomscroll-worthy topics. She admitted it right away. "I can't help myself," she said. "There was no way I couldn't talk about women's rights on this record." The album's very title refers to society's tendency to put the woman at fault, one that, of course, has biblical precedent. Copeland always has a way of selling you without hitting you over the head. "Hurricanes and tropical twisters / Always gettin' named after some sisters," she sings on the title track, "But the worst winds come from DC / Stealin' rights from you and me." Even alongside Jim Hoke's skronking saxophone and Luther Dickinson's screaming guitars, it's Copeland's wail that rises above.

Copeland calls herself "an idea person" who works with a stellar team of songwriters. Like most lyricists do, she jots down song ideas when they come into her head, and flushing the songs out with her team happens organically. "It's like getting a dress tailor made to fit you," she said. Blame It On Eve is her most balanced record yet. There are autobiographical songs (the blues stomp "Tough Mother"), paeans to interracial love ("Cadillac Blue"), gospel-rock jams ("Tell The Devil"), educational treatises ("Tee Tot Payne"), and even a couple covers, including her father Johnny's "Down on Bended Knee". Copeland turned to longtime collaborator Will Kimbrough to produce the record and play various instruments on it, and the core band of Kimbrough, bassist Lex Price, and drummer Pete Abbott treats Copeland's words with appropriate gravity. Kimbrough's mournful, echoing licks mirror Copeland's pained expressions on "Only Miss You All the Time". And the band's rock and roll strut gives levity to an otherwise serious song "Broken High Heels", where Copeland cleverly compares our collective attitude towards climate change to "Dancing in a graveyard in broken high heels."

Indeed, Copeland's songs that one might call "political" aren't really that--they're just about issues that affect everyday life. "Anything uncomfortable, people want to call it political," Copeland said. On "Is There Anybody Up There?" a duet with Alejandro Escovedo, the narrator starts to doubt that God is listening when looking at the ills of the world, like our broken immigration system, before realizing that his very doubts make him a sinner, too: "If they crucified poor Jesus, think what they'll do to me!" "Tee Tot Payne" is, of course, about the Black man who taught Hank Williams the blues. Copeland views the song as part of the larger conversation going on about Black influence on country music, and an important opportunity to engage with Black history. "Rhiannon Giddens wrote an amazing essay about the banjo and how it wasn't originally an instrument used amongst white bluegrass artists as much as it was used within Black culture," Copeland said. "They're trying to get rid of history, so for my last records, I try to put something educational in there."

As traditional as is the music Copeland makes, her view on making records and performing is pretty consistent with that of today's world. She's the first artist I've ever interviewed to admit that the sequencing of her albums isn't crucial. That is, she doesn't care whether listeners listen to the album's songs in order as much as they pay attention to what's in each song. "In all honesty, I don't believe sequencing is that important because people don't listen to records that way. I still do, but people don't listen to records in sequence. People pop it into their device and listen to it the way they want to," Copeland said. She then offered a caveat. "But it's important to me that they hear all the songs. They all fit on the record in some shape or form." That's Copeland, the idea person, thinking big picture, knowing that the collection of songs makes a whole, but each individual track tells a unique story. It's perhaps why her approach to playing live is so effective. Sequencing a set is important to Copeland, but it's less about planning and more about doing some of her own listening. "I don't really do setlists. I try to feel out the audience. I have some idea what we're gonna do, but I change it up," she said.

At the end of the day, Copeland has an innate sense for what makes songs tick. As she and her team write and practice, they start to think about who else could feature on the song, always without overloading it. It's how they ended up with Jerry Douglas contributing lap steel on "Cadillac Blue", Dashawn Hickman providing Sacred Steel guitar on "Tell the Devil", and Cara Fox playing cello on "Belle Sorciere", on whose chorus Copeland sings in French. Copeland's song-making prowess, though, is never more so evidenced by her version of Ron Miller's "Heaven Help Us All", recorded most famously by Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles. The album closer, it features Kimbrough on organ and Lisa Oliver Gray and Odessa Settles providing impassioned backing vocals. Copeland had first heard the Charles version, which appeared on his 1972 album A Message from the People and featured Gladys Knight. "It [has] a lot of background vocals and horns. It was done in a very big, produced way," Copeland said. "I thought I wanted to break it down to the basics." She's not a minimalist, but when you listen to Copeland's albums or performances, or even talk to her on the phone, every word and moment is essential. She can't help it.

Tour dates:

8/30: Peoria Blues & Heritage Music Festival 2024, Peoria, IL 8/31: Fishers Blues Festival, Fishers, IN 9/1: Rhythm & Roots 2024, Charlestown, RI 9/5: Bell's Brewery, Kalamazoo, MI 9/6: The Ark, Ann Arbor, MI 9/7: Wheatland Music Festival, Remus, MI 9/17: Americanafest Showcase at 3rd & Lindsley, Nashville, TN 9/20: Fanatics Pub, Lima, NY, United States 9/21: Pittsburgh International Jazz Festival, Pittsburgh, PA 9/22: Center for the Arts of Homer, Homer, NY 9/27: Rochester Opera House, Rochester, NH 9/28: Spire Center for Performing Arts, Plymouth, MA 10/10: One Longfellow Square, Portland, ME 10/12: StageOne at FTC, Fairfield, CT 10/13: Ardmore Music Hall, Ardmore, PA 10/17: Daryl's House, Pawling, NY 10/18: Elkton Music Hall, Elkton, MD 10/19: Rams Head On Stage, Annapolis, MD 10/20: The Tin Pan, Richmond, VA 11/14: Music Box Supper Club, Cleveland, OH 11/15: The Acorn, Three Oaks, MI 11/16: City Winery Chicago, Chicago, IL 11/17: City Winery St. Louis, St. Louis, MO 11/22: Lizzie Rose Music Room, Tuckerton, NJ 11/23: Barre Opera House, Barre, VT 11/24: City Winery Boston, Boston, MA 11/30: SFJAZZ Center, San Francisco, CA 12/6: Sam's Burger Joint, San Antonio, TX 12/7: The Kessler Theater, Dallas, TX 12/8: Houston Blues Society Holiday Bash at Rockefeller's, Houston, TX 1/19: One Longfellow Square, Portland, ME 2/7: Zellerbach Theatre at The Annenberg Center, Philadelphia, PA 2/16: Vero Beach Blues Festival, Vero Beach, FL 2/22: Soka Performing Arts Center, Aliso Viejo, CA 2/23: Poway Center for the Performing Arts, Poway, CA 4/4: Lied Center of Kansas, Lawrence, KS 4/7: McCain Auditorium, Manhattan, KS 4/12: Bitterroot Performing Arts Council, Hamilton, MT

[thephotopitmagazine]

WELCOME TO ROCKVILLE MUSIC SCHEDULE, FESTIVAL EXPERIENCES, AND FOOD & BEVERAGE OFFERINGS ANNOUNCED FOR 2024!

Welcome To Rockville Music Schedule, Festival Experiences, Food & Beverage Offerings Announced For May 9-12, 2024 At Daytona International Speedway In Daytona Beach, Florida   Mötley Crüe & Disturbed (Thursday), Limp Bizkit & Jelly Roll (Friday), Foo Fighters & Queens of the Stone Age (Saturday), Slipknot & Evanescence (Sunday) Lead Incredible & Diverse Rock Lineup With 150 Bands On 5…

[saintsonnet]

@queer-ragnelle @dropitdoeeyes (so sorry i forget your sideblog...)

I want to start a Christmas/Winter/Holidays picrew chain

[rawrampmag]

MIKE ROSS Album Release Dates

MIKE ROSS Album Release Dates #UKDates #UKtour #NewAlbum #AlbumRelease

The multi-talented, multi-instrumentalist, and astonishingly assiduous re-worker of blues sounds & American roots music  MIKE ROSS has announced a run of selected UK shows in support of his forthcoming, rock-infused, 12-track album ‘Third Eye Open’ which is due out 28th April, 2023.  Pre-orders for the album — available in several formats — are now open and the countdown to the exciting …

[theveryworstthing]

over on patreon It's Not Blue asked for goblin racers and the harvest season is approaching so it's time to start putting up the Randrake track.

in places where the soil is a bit too saturated with magic, randrakes start to show up in the crops. goblins see them as the land trying its best to "digest" that magic before it rots and goes toxic, and for all intents and purposes they are regular root vegetables. they're just very...energetic. so of course it became a goblin tradition to race these bad boys. this could all also be some unknown parasite carrying out lifecycle shenanigans by running around and triggering the prey drive of whatever is closest, but it doesn't seem to hurt anybody if true and that's close enough to the magic bullshit goblins usually have to put up with anyway so whatever.

the winning runners earn a place in the finest dishes at the town festival feast and the losers are given to livestock as treats on the specific festival day honoring them. the winning farmer usually gets one future chore favor, no questions asked (unless there's like, a dead body involved, and some old villages still say you gotta), from everyone else who entered. the stakes are high.

pictured here are several kinds of Randrakes (who are all obviously different vegetables but have the same leaves which is the mark of a Randrake), and last year's winner, Mr. Thumb with his fabulous carrot, Sweet Pea.

[fayes-fics]

Breathe (In The Air)

Pariring: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, 1970s AU

Summary: A night camping out under the stars

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, recreational drug use (cannabis), body hair used in foreplay, vaginal fingering, blow job, woman on top, unprotected vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.6k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon (HERE) asking for a sequel to 1970s hippie Benedict, travelling around in his VW bus selling his artwork at music festivals. Sorry for the gif; there was nothing else that remotely fit. The original story is HERE. The title is a Pink Floyd song. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for the beta. I hope you enjoy Nonny. I do enjoy this AU ngl. <3

“What do you want from life?” 

You loll your head to the side to observe his handsome profile as he stares towards the dome of vibrant stars above.

“I have no idea,” you confess, turning to look skywards again, moonlight glowing through the swirl of smoke you exhale, your fingers toying with the tassels of the soft cotton blanket you both lay upon.

“I want adventure…” he declares, rubbing a hand over his bare midriff absentmindedly.

“Hmmm, that sounds wonderful,” you admit, handing him back the joint, that languid feeling enrobing your mind as the THC kicks in.

It's a temperate summer night, and you are lying together naked, tinny strains of music from a portable radio as you camp in a wildflower meadow en route to the next festival. After a series of magical nights with Ben in his VW bus at the last one, you couldn't resist when he offered for you to continue the journey onwards together. 

He takes a deep drag, the tip glowing like the campfire you are lying in front of, before placing it aside into a metal ashtray and rolling over so he hovers above you, warm skin upon yours.

“I am glad you are on this adventure with me,” he remarks with a lopsided grin, the captivating beauty of his face dancing in the firelight.

“Same.” you concur, reaching to touch the daisy chain buried in his halo of riotous curls, somehow the blooms looking more vibrant in the serene state you are slipping into.

His hand slides languorously down your body from your throat to your lower belly, mapping your fire-warmed skin before lacing his fingers into the downy hair at the apex of your thighs, stirring that nascent buzz between your legs.

“I think this beautiful garden needs some flowers,” he opines silkily, his fingers circling in the strands there, petting gently as his brow twitches into a tempting arch.

He leans over you and plucks a few forget-me-nots from the tall grass, carefully separating each bloom on your stomach. Then, delicately, he weaves each tiny flower into your small thatch of hair, a mild tickle as the stems brush over your skin, making you giggle quietly. He smiles softly, your eyes meeting, then both tracking down the plane of your body as he continues to work quietly, humming gently along to the music.

“There… perfect,” he pronounces proudly; a few moments later, 

It does indeed look pretty: bright blue tiny flowers that contrast strikingly with your hair and skin. 

“Even in this, you are an artist,” you quip blithely.

He smiles demurely through his lashes, shuffling lower and resting his head upon your diaphragm, his fingers tracing soothing patterns around your belly button, his breath puffing warm over your flesh. Allowing the jangle of electric guitar from the radio to fill your bones, your fingers run idly through his luscious locks as your mind floats like cotton in a breeze. The moment seems fleeting but everlasting all at once, profound but insignificant, being so small under the twinkling constellations above. It all coalesces into a sharp need to feel rooted in your body. So you draw your knees up and allow your legs to fall open—a blatant invitation. The apple of his cheek presses into your belly as he smirks knowingly without looking up at you, sensing your need without you needing to voice it, so in tune with your body and desires since the night you met.

“Every beautiful garden should have a sacred fountain…” he rumbles, fingertips spidering down again over the floral weave to tease your splayed inner thigh before sliding casually lower, parting your folds, exhaling roughly at the wet warmth he finds there.

You moan; the mellow cloud you float upon heightens the sensation rippling through your being as his fingers circle your clit, his warm lips suckling gently on your stomach as you writhe under his touch. His name is a sigh upon your lips, his movements unhurried but the perfect amount of pressure. He huffs sonorous praises into your belly as he forms a tighter circle over your swollen bud, moving faster now, your hands flying to the blanket, scrunching in your fists as your head rolls to one side, wanting to bite down upon something, the pleasure coursing through you amplified by your high. 

Whimpering as he slides his fingers lower, two breaching your body, desire thick and viscous dripping upon him as he pushes further in your pussy. The sensation of his knuckles dragging over your walls makes you gasp and call out, your body arching up off the blanket, a heavy throb in your abandoned clit. 

“Please, Ben…” you implore, greedy for more.

He shushes you and unfurls slightly, his fingers flexing inside you as he rearranges to press his whole body into your flank, his cock teasingly hard against your hip, using his free hand to haul one of your legs over his, pulled open to his attention now.

“Don't be impatient; we have all the time in the world,” he tuts sinfully, his lips hot on your throat, grazing the tip of his teeth lightly over your jugular. 

Your protesting mewl is cut short by his fingers twisting inside you, a dragging sensation that makes your eyes roll and your whole abdomen clench.

“I could do this for hours,” he confesses silkily, his breath hot on your temple. “I love the look on your face when I do this…”

He curls his fingers, a probing sensation that makes you groan and your face contort, your mouth now hanging open. He chuckles triumphantly before twisting his wrist again and beginning a rocking motion, wringing a sound from your body that, before you met him, you may have been ashamed of, but he lauds every time. Him murmuring how proud he is that he can do this to you.

But it is not quite enough to push you to the edge as fast as you are craving, more of a slow swirling ascent that has you lighthearted and with laboured breathing, your abdomen rippling as all your muscles tense and release in waves, as if willing your orgasm closer, an itch in your brain you need to scratch. It has you pleading with him to take pity, go a little faster, rougher, anything…

“Syncopate, sweet girl…” he purrs, “listen to the music, breathe in the air, float away with the universe…”

Each word is a lyrical wave tumbling from his lips in a rhythm that matches the movement of his fingers inside you. So you relax back, savouring the multisensory journey, allowing the flow to take you rather than chasing immediate pleasure. Something morphing in your body as you do so, a serenity that is bone-deep, riding the gentle waves of pleasure that lap at your edges while his fingers dance lightly upon your g-spot.

“That’s it….” he rumbles approvingly, intuiting your surrender.

He slips down to enclose your areola in his hot, wet mouth, once again causing a spike of pleasure that has you clenching upon his fingers and canting up. A firm hand on your solar plexus pushes you back down with a chuckle that vibrates your nipple, now firm under his tongue. And so he continues the slow, wondrous torture, swapping to your other breast.

You swear you can feel every blade of grass under your shoulders through the soft cotton weave, the energy of every star above you in the sky coursing through his touch deep inside, every note of the song playing reverberating under your skin. A high, so delicate but earthy, as if everything is turned up to eleven on a dial, tangy and bright, like popping candy throughout your entire being.

It's then he swipes his thumb over your engorged clit; you could swear a supernova fires in your synapses, the sensation all at once too much, and with a few flicks, you are clawing at the blanket and his skin, biting your lip, circling that phenomenal bliss.

This time, he doesn't relent, his lips sucking your neck as with a cry that you are sure startles every animal burrowed in the surrounding fields; you are breaking. Almost febrile, your entire being flushing hot, every muscle tensing, your pussy grasping his fingers to the point he growls, driving his stiff cock into your hip, precum smearing over your skin. Still, it’s something you barely sense, your entire focus pinpointed on the sensations coursing through your body.

At last, you fall back, exhausted and panting, feeling his fingers slip slowly from your body with a gush of moisture that leaks across your bottom. You turn your head to look at him, mind awash, unable to form words. His responding smile is smug, crooked and sheer debauchery, his fingers still wet with your arousal, tracing soothing patterns over your ribs as you come down.

“May I return the favour…?” you croak finally.

Before you know it, he is rolling onto his back next to you, an expectant, joyous look upon his face, eyes tracking pointedly to his navel as do yours. His cock standing proud and leaking slightly—a mouthwateringly inviting sight.

He howls, and his whole body flexes as instead of taking him in hand, you dive low and bring his cock into your mouth, so rigid and searing. That tart taste is strong on your tongue as you suckle upon his head, allowing your tongue to press against his frenulum in a cresting wave. He groans staccato, his pelvis tilts, unable to resist the urge to push a little deeper, one hand landing heavy in your hair, twining some strands between his fingers, an anchor he needs as you begin to bob up and down sucking hard, your cheeks hollowing.

The wash of your high enhancing every second, as if in tune with his body—the micro spasms rippling across the plane of his washboard stomach, the flutter of his long eyelashes, the blunt scrape of his rounded fingernails over your scalp, the pulse of his vein on your lips as you slowly allow him to pass through the tight ring of your mouth, teasing him as much as he did you.

You chuckle as he huffs as you pull away and instead lick the length of his shaft with a questing tongue, your hands encircling his base and squeezing softly, enjoying the handful he provides, watching a bead of precum form that you lavishly lick up. He groans again, his head thrashing upon the blanket, the delicate fronds of daisy petals scattering like confetti into his chestnut waves as he does so, his lip flushing magenta where his incisor worries it.

It makes you sit up and stare down upon him wantonly, so utterly beautiful in his untamed arousal. His eyes fly open, glassy and pleading in the campfire glow, pouting fractionally at the lack of your mouth upon his cock, your hand still pumping him gently. Instead, you swing a leg over his and, without a moment of hesitation, sink onto him, inhaling shudderingly at the invasion, your pussy still inflamed from your recent orgasm.

The look of absolute pleasure and reverence that claims his handsome features feels burned into your retinas as his hands fly to your hips, pushing you down flush to his body, his pubic hair tickling your distended slippery clit, his tip rocking into your hilt in a way that makes your eyes roll.

“Don't move, not yet, just feel…” he counsels, his eyes closing, licking his lips and encouraging you, with the flex of his fingers, to rotate your pelvis, to feel him drag against all your walls. 

And so you do, scratch your nails delicately down his abdominals as you stare out to the inky horizon where the navy sky meets the blackened outline of the hedgerows in the distance—again, letting the melodic song seep into your bones, feeling the heat from the dancing flames.

You lean back and arch your spine, placing your hands upon his kneecaps, his legs bending slightly to meet your grip. His hands roam upwards, over your belly and ribs, enclosing each of your breasts in his large grip, a beeline right to your core, already a live wire again, desire coursing in every fibre of your being. 

Then in a deliberate slow drag, you rise slowly before dropping swiftly, revelling in the way his cock pushes you open. A groan from deep inside your being a match to his—throaty, low, wrecked. You begin to set a languid pace, riding him, gripping his knees behind you and staring at the stars above, feeling as if they surround you, tiny lanterns floating just beyond your reach.

“Look at me,” his call is soft, unfocused, imploring, and you tilt down, your breasts squashed into his palms as your eyes meet, something profound in the glimmer you find in the dilated blackness.

Sex has never been this unrestrained before now. Being with him is liberating, wild and luxuriant every time, be it under the influence or not. But tonight, somehow greater than the previous, an inherently verdant setting, alone in the wilds on a balmy night, away from the crowds always in your periphery at the music festival. A large part of you wanting this to be your new forever—naked and feral, entwined together for a blur of future days and nights. A want to live a primitive life of base urges, to feast and to fuck, to be at one with the land, the seasons and the bounteous simplicity of nature.

Time feels elastic as your thighs start to burn from the exertion. Still, you do not stop, not for a moment, too caught up in the tide slowly rising once more and sensing the same in him. A growing desperation in the way his fingers dig into your flesh, in the wild beating of the prominent vein in his neck, in the rise of his hips to meet yours, spearing up as you bear down so it feels like there will always be the imprint of him inside you.

He calls your name, the callus where he holds his paintbrush catching perfectly over your clit as his fingers quest between your legs, hooking you with unerring precision. Catapulting you fast towards a dizzying high again, his movements growing urgent, his jaw tight, so close to breaking. It is barely a moment before you snap again, stilling upon him as you scream with abandon, fluttering around his rigid cock. He groans loudly and, with a few final jerky spasms, comes hard, his toes curling over, his ropey thighs turning rock solid under your bottom as he fills you, a symphony of praise falling from his lips, some not even in English.

And then you are slumping on top of him, his smooth chest tacky under your cheek as you gulp for air, the rustle of the breeze through the nearby trees and the hiss and pop of the logs upon the campfire the only sounds now, the radio falling silent, likely needing new batteries. He slips from your body as you curl your hands around his biceps and snuggle upon him. His long, lean arms wrap around your torso, enveloping you within the large blanket you were lying upon and dropping a kiss upon your dewy brow.

“We can bathe tomorrow in the river,” he hums gently into your hairline.

You nod drowsily, the pull of sleep too beguiling to resist. And that is how you drift off, resting atop him, his heartbeat strong and steady under your ear, the burbling sounds of nature encircling you.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

please do something with peter parker for vday. I miss you writing for him

I started writing this one last year for Valentine's Day...forgive me for the long wait

—

‘’No, you don’t understand, Ned. It needs to be perfect,’’ Peter explained, turning to his best friend for help.

‘’My longest and only relationship lasted about sixty hours, so I’m not really the one to come to for Valentine’s Day gift ideas.’’ 

‘’Uncle Ben always gave May flowers and chocolate.’’ And Peter always tried to steal chocolate from the box. ‘’But Y/N is Mr. Stark’s daughter, I can’t just buy her flowers and chocolate. She’ll think I’m poor.’’ 

‘’Didn’t you tell me this morning that you only have five dollars in your pockets?’’ Ned recalled, taking one of the homemade cookies his lola had put into his lunch bag and taking a bite. There was one for Peter too, but he was too busy worrying and panicking.

Peter groaned and hid his face in his crossed arms, frustrated and desperate. Being broke was a second problem to his Valentine’s Day plan. ‘’What am I gonna do? Valentine’s Day is in two days. I can’t not get her anything.’’ 

‘’If you go back to the roots of Valentine’s Day, it’s about celebrating love. You don’t have to spend money to show someone you love them.’’ Peter opened his mouth, but Ned spoke first. ‘’Even if she’s a Stark and bathes in money,’’ he added. ‘’She didn’t fall in love with you because of your economic status, she fell in love because of who you are.’’

On the big day, Peter set everything up in his living room. May was on a date with Happy, so he had the apartment to himself — until 10pm. He didn’t have a projector, so he made one with a shoebox and a magnifying glass, and hung a sheet to one of the walls to turn into a screen. He made cheese pastas and brought over the single chocolate cupcake he was able to afford. 

He was nervous, constantly checking his phone waiting for your ‘I’m here’ text. When he finally got it, Peter rushed to the door, smoothing his button up and fixing his hair before opening. If he was this nervous for Valentine’s Day, he didn’t want to imagine the nervous wreck he would be at his wedding. 

Not that he was planning on getting married anytime soon. 

‘’Happy Valentine’s Day,’’ you said with a smile on your glossy lips. 

Peter said the words back and let you in, gulping when his eyes fell on the small gift bag you were holding. You set it down on the table to take off your coat and boots, revealing a pink sweater and a sparkly necklace that cost probably more than anything in May's apartment.

You followed Peter to the living room, excitement bubbling in your stomach when seeing the frozen image of your favorite rom-com projected on the wall.  ‘’You made this?’’ 

Peter gave you a small nod. Projectors were easy to make. He learned how in a science book for kids when he was nine. May was so impressed when he showed her his ‘magic box’. 

‘’It’s not much, but—’’ he started to say, but you shut him up with a kiss. 

‘’Stop it,’’ you said, guessing his train of  thoughts. ‘’This is the best Valentine’s Day gift ever.’’ 

You never had another valentine before him — beside the little boys in middle school who sent you cards and heart lollipops  —, but Peter’s gift came from the heart. It was thoughtful and personal, therefore meant a lot to you. 

After eating the pastas, you handed Peter the gift bag. He was nervous just from holding it. 

He slowly pulled out the festive tissue papers and groaned when seeing a red and blue plush toy. ‘’Spiderman? Really?’’ Peter made an annoyed face. He didn't want to come off as ungrateful, but he was getting tired of the jokes with the Spiderman merch he had no control over. 

‘’Press his chest,’’ you instructed, ignoring his complaints.

Peter gave you a confused look, but listened. ‘’I love you, my Spidey,’’ the toy said.

You watched his expressions shift from confusion to surprise, Peter’s eyes widening when he recognized the sound of your voice. A genuine smile spread across his face, the small plush taking a whole other meaning. ‘’That's your voice,’’ he whispered, still holding the talking Spiderman plush. 

You nodded, the sparks in Peter’s eyes telling you that no expensive gift could have matched this one. He was truly touched. ‘’I know you don’t like when I get you expensive things, so I didn’t get you a new watch,’’ you explained, thinking back at the Cartier watch you hesitated on last week. He would have hated it. 

Turning toward you, Peter enveloped you in a hug to properly thank you. 

Your arms wrapped around him in return. ‘’Even when I’m not with you, you’ll always have something to remind you that I love you.’’ 

—

Marvel taglist: @xenasolos @chrizzierbsstuff @ayamenimthiriel @alina02 @turtleshavesoulmates @staygoldsquatchling02 @daemonslittlebitch  @wetwilliam02 @haileyismoo @manofworm @rhydianissuperior @supersanelyromantic @nicangel13 @mxxny-lupin  @sweeterheartxamerica @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @arunaposeidondottie @liidiaaag @katsukis1wife  @amithesimpoffandoms @acornacreacure @chaotic-fangirl-blog  @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @youdontneedtoknowthisinformation  @aabananaa @starrrslove  @angeliod @nmedina8611 @1stevelacyfan  @yourfavdummy @laylasbunbunny  @slytherhoes @pedrosprincess  @luvvtxinityy @Eddiefrickenmunson @wandaswigglywoos @mikaelsonsstuff  @tcddszn  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous  @popeheywardssecretgf @kattybug @loverofdrewstarkey  @sl4sh3rfuck3r  @luci1fer @dingus0401  @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @t-candy  @adaydreamaway08  @johannelis2302nely  @lynbubble @straberryshortcake143 @mymultiveres @hopeurokays @not-liah @beth-gallagher22  @lonelywitchv2 @lausley336 @arinexeisnotworking  @rubyliquor @Danniackerman  @angelxxrose @angelxxrose  @upwritingallnight  @cruzgrecia @evelestrange  @sunnysunny133696 @aesthetixhoe  @hoeforsirius  @secretsthathauntus  @sarcasm-and-stiles

All and more taglist:  @kenqki  @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff  @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity

[greenwitchcrafts]

September 2023 witch guide

SEPTEMBER 2024:

September 2023 witch guide

Full moon: September 29th

New moon: September 14th

Sabbats: Mabon September 23rd

September Harvest Moon

Also known as: Autumn moon, falling leaves moon, song moon, leaves turning moon, moon of brown leaves, yellow leaf moon, wine moon & Full corn moon

Element: Earth

Zodiac: Virgon& Libra

Animal spirits: Trooping Faeries

Deities: Brigid, Ceres, Ch'ang-o, Demeter, Freya, Isis & Vesta

Animals: Jackal & snake

Birds: Ibis & sparrow

Trees: Bay, hawthorn, hazel & larch

Herbs/plants: Copal, fennel, rye, skullcap, valerian, wheat & witch hazel

Flowers: Lily & Narcissus

Scents: Bergamot, gardenia, mastic & storax

Stones: Bloodstone, chrysolite, citrine, olivine, peridot & sapphire

Colors: Browns, dark blue, greens & yellows ( Earth tones)

Energy: Balance of light & dark, dietary matters, employment, health, intellectual pursuits, prosperity, psychism, rest, spirituality, success & work environments. Also cleaning & straightening mentally, physically & spiritually.

Technically, the Harvest Moon is the Full Moon closest to the September equinox around September 21st. The Harvest Moon is the only Full Moon name determined by the equinox rather than a month. Most years, it’s in September, but around every three years, it falls in October.

In September, the Full Moon is the Corn Moon from the Native American tribes harvesting their corn. It can also be the Harvest Moon, which corresponds with the Anglo-Saxon name, while Celtic and Old English names are Wine Moon, Song Moon, and Barley Moon.

Mabon

Also known as: Autumn Equinox, Cornucopia, Witch's Thanksgiving & Alban Elved

Season: Fall

Symbols: Acorns, apples, autumn leaves, berries, corn, cornucopia (horn of plenty), dried seeds, gourds, grains, grapes, ivy, pine cones, pomegranates, vines, wheat, white roses & wine

Colors: Blue brown, drk red, deep gold, gold, indigo, lead green, maroon, orange, red, russet, violet & yellow

Oils/incense: Apple, apple blossom, benzoin, black pepper, hay/straw, myrrh, passion flower, patchouli, pine, red poppy & sage

Animals: Dog, goose, hawk, swan, swallow & wolf

Stones: Agate, amethyst, carnelian, lapis lazuli, sapphire, yellow Agate  & yellow topaz

Foods: Apples, blackberries, blackberry wine, bread, carrots, cider, corn, cornbread, grapes, heather wine, nuts, onions, pomegranates, potatoes, squash, vegetables, wheat & winw

Herbs/plants: Acorn, benzoin, cedar, corn, cypress, ferns, grains, hazel, hops, ivy, myrrh, oak, pine, sage, sassafras, Salomon's seal, thistle, tobacco & wheat

Flowers: Aster, heather, honeysuckle, marigold, milkweed, mum,passion flower& rose

Goddesses: Danu, Epona, Modron, Morrigan, Muses, Pomona, Persephone, Sophia & Sura

Gods: Esus, Green Man, Hermes, Mabon, Mannanan, Toth & Thor

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Accomplishment, agriculture, balance, goals, gratitude & grounding

Spellworks: Balance, harmony, protection, prosperity, security & self confidence

Related festivals:

• Sukkot- is a Torah-commanded holiday celebrated for seven days, beginning on the 15th day of the month of Tishrei. It is one of the Three Pilgrimage Festivals (Hebrew: שלוש רגלים, shalosh regalim) on which those Israelites who could were commanded to make a pilgrimage to the Temple in Jerusalem. In addition to its harvest roots, the holiday also holds spiritual importance with regard to its abandonment of materialism to focus on nationhood, spirituality, and hospitality, this principle underlying the construction of a temporary, almost nomadic, structure of a sukkah.

• Mid-Autumn festival- also known as the Moon Festival or Mooncake Festival, is a traditional festival celebrated in Chinese culture. Similar holidays are celebrated by other cultures in East & Southeast Asia. It is one of the most important holidays in Chinese culture; its popularity is on par with that of Chinese New Year. The history of the Mid-Autumn Festival dates back over 3,000 years. The festival is held on the 15th day of the 8th month of the Chinese lunisolar lunisolar calendar with a full moon at night, corresponding to mid-September to early October of the Gregorian calendar. On this day, the Chinese believe that the Moon is at its brightest and fullest size, coinciding with harvest time in the middle of Autumn.

• Thanksgiving- This is a secular holiday which is similar to the cell of Mabon; A day to give thanks for the food & blessings of the previous year. The American Thanksgiving is the last Thursday of November while the Canadian Thanksgiving is celebrated in October

• Festival of Dionysus- There were several festivals that honored Dionysus, the God of wine. It was a time of fun, games, feasting & drinking wine.

Activities:

•Scatter offerings in a harvested fields, Offer libations to trees

• Decorate your home and/or altar space for fall

• Bake bread

• Perform a ritual to restore balance and harmony to your life

• Cleanse your home of negative energies

• Pick apples

• Have a dinner or feast with your family and/or friends

• Set intentions for the upcoming year

• Purge what is no longer serving you

•Take a walk in the woods

• Enjoy a pumpkin spice latte

• Donate to your local food bank

• Gather dried herbs, plants, seeds & pods

• Learn something new

• Make wine

• Brew an apple cinnamon simmer pot

• Create an outdoor Mabon altar

•Adorn burial sites with leaves, acorns, & pinecones to honor those who have passed over & visit their graves

Many cultures see the second harvest (after the first harvest Lammas) and equinox as a time for giving thanks. This time of year is when farmers know how well their summer crops did, and how well fed their animals have become. This determines whether you and your family would have enough food for the winter. That is why people used to give thanks around this time, thanks for their crops, and animals, and food. 

The name Mabon comes from the Welsh God, who was the son of the Earth Mother Goddess. However, there is evidence that the name was adopted in the 1970s, and the holiday was not originally a Celtic celebration.

Some believe Night and day are of equal legth and the God's energy & strength are nearly gone . The Goddess begins to mourn the loss she knows is coming, but knows he will return when he reborn at Yule.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Wikipedia

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Mabon: Rituals, Recipes & Lore for the Autumn Equinox Llewellyn's Sabbat Essentials

[tb3ih]

A TEST OF ANGUISH (pt. 4), kamisato ayato/reader

SYNOPSIS… they love is not for the weak of heart OR KAMISATO AYATO has more buried in his rib cage than he lets on. 

⋆   warnings, kamisato ayato & fem-presenting!reader, a smidge of confrontation, pain pain pain. ⋆   notes, ayato is actually an allusion to my ex lmaooo.

⋆ tags! @kiyoomiwo @hotgirlshit5 @kunikuzushisbeloved @iamnotobsessed @lightoftheamethyst @xiaosonlybeloved @jcrml @kireeen @isotofl @iiyumii @neverlandlostchild @lumpywolf @mrs-heelshire @nickey-diano @irisxiel @esthelily @chiisananingen @goodsoup101 @the-real-fandom-person @whatamidoing89 @ayatoslovelywife @lorkai @bambambunny @i-3at-kidz @kyauyumira @pineapplesneedrights @atlas-rin @hyunromi @simplyhumanlol

YOUR fingers are gentle as you thread them through sora’s hair, carefully threading the strands together until it’s a braided crown of blue. you’ve just finished tucking in the last bits of hair into her braid when you see the coloring; it’s faint, but her light blue has begun to shift to a deeper indigo at her roots. 

“okaasan, am i pretty yet?” her light indigo irises are fixed on you through the reflecting vanity mirror. sora had sensed your halt in motion, her smile innocent and inquiring. 

you bring an easy smile to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair before reassuring her. “you have always been the most beautiful to me.” your hands move to adjust to the collar of her formal dress, the light purple blossoms peeking out just over her shoulders. you had this dress made just before you left the kamisato estate, hopeful that she might be able to wear it during summer festivities rather than a trial between two dominant clans. 

a reality which you seem to be so detached from as of late. 

it had been a couple months since you’ve moved out of your old residence, a decision you made in the best interest of you and your daughter, and yet you can’t help the strange welling in your heart at the thought of having to set foot inside once more. 

a house once full of unity, now harboring distrust and tension, you had no choice to bring sora back to it. as the sole heir to the hayashi matriarch and the only child of the head of the yashiro commission, sora could not be absent. 

“sora,” you begin, “i just want you to know… that, uhm…” there’s a lump in your throat and something tickles at your tear ducts. your daughter turns to face you on her chair, her smaller hands coming to cup around your face as her expression fills with worry. “i’m alright, flower, no need to worry.” you bring a hand to place on hers, thumb rubbing softly against the back of her hand in comfort.

“after today, if somethings don’t go the way i planned,” you explain, “i don’t want you to think for even a second that i don’t love you. not ever.” the thought of having to give her up had been tormenting you the past few weeks after the elders had brought into question succession for both clans with the continuance of a divorce. 

between the yashiro commission and the hayashi clan, there was only one legitimate heir. and you’re sure everyone who was anyone in the room would want a claim to your sora. 

“everything will be alright as long as i’m with mama,” sora replies quietly, offering a soft smile. there was absolutely nothing you wouldn’t do for this little girl. 

you press a soft kiss to her forehead. “let’s hope that never changes.”

holding her hand in yours, the two of you leave the room, making it down the hall to the grand room where the most important meetings are held. the few elders which had gathered outside the door lower their gazes and bow, offering you their respects. The guards outside the door stand in position of salute, only moving back to a position of attention when you nod. 

there are whispers among the few which you pass on your way towards the doors, their voices hushed but not quiet enough for you to miss. 

“a pity the yashiro commission has to incur such a loss over a petty issue,” one criticizes. 

“you’d think as a matriarch she’d be more understanding and mature,” the other replies. “it seems ridiculous to stage such a trial between clans, no?”

sora looks up at you with confusion in her eyes, and you simply bring a soft smile to your face, shaking your head in dismissal. “you pay them no mind, flower.” you stop just before the doors, your free hand coming to signal to the door keepers. “vermin who mooch off of their diluted family ties hold no opinion in the court of nobility.”

there are some hushed gasps behind you and you see your daughter giggle, the doors coming to open before you to reveal a larger room of gathering nobles. directly in front of you at the grand table, kamisato ayato sits beside his younger sister, an image of placid indifference reflected in his figure. 

the elders seated in the room took to their feet, offering a bow of acknowledgement as you approached the room. ayato was delayed in his response, standing moments later and offering a deep bow. 

you bowed in response, sinking deeply before returning back to your full height. Akane appeared at your side at once, ushering sora to the side seats where she could sit but remain in proximity to you. 

“matriarch of the hayashi clan, i, kamisato ayato, head of the kamisato clan, greet you humbly. regardless of the outcome, i wish all good intentions during this trial.” his voice is smooth and courteous, but void of any emotion, yet another twist to the knife in your heart. 

“i, hayashi y/n, head of the hayashi clan, wish you well in this fair trial and hope you accept the ruling without protest,” you reply, smile soft and polite. 

you see his jaw tick at this, a feeling of satisfaction settling deep in your bones. 

when the doors open one final time, it is everyone’s turn to bow, for the raiden shogun comes waltzing in, voice calm and level when she asks, “shall we get started then?”

"SHE was born on the kamisato estate, by natural laws she is the kamisato clan’s right!” an elder at the table, whom you recognize to be one of the most senior among those gathered from the opposing party. she only ever liked the number on the profit amount your marriage brought her. “this is inarguably–”

one of the elders from your side stands from his chair, violet eyes seething at the remark. “inarguable? it was not in the contractual agreement!” 

the air is tense with anger, confusion, and stubbornness, all of which you remain aware of yet quiet. your eyes are trained on your husband, his eyes also never leaving yours since the moment the both of you sat down. 

it isn’t until the raiden shogun speaks do the two of you avert your eyes to her. “why are the lot of you discussing the little girl as if she’s a mere object? Have you any respect for the child?” her violet eyes are narrowed and gaze is pointed, as if to pierce straight through anyone who might answer her conjecture incorrectly. 

“n-no, almighty s-shogun–” 

another elder stands, trembling before the archon. “please, we didn’t mean any insolence–”

“and yet,” raiden continues, “i have yet to hear anything remotely negotiable in the past two hours i’ve been stuck sitting in this chair. tell me, have you any idea what the girl is like? taken the time to understand who sora is?”

at this, ayato flinches, the question itself more indirectly intended for him. 

“it is true that by natural law sora is entitled to the kamisato clan,” raiden begins, the faces of all those in favor of the aforementioned clan lighting up in delight, “but after further examination of the justification for the divorce, it would seem that she is, inarguably, the rightful heir to the hayashi clan.”

protest begins to break out amongst the elders and you feel the heat clawing at the back of your throat, the tickle of electricity in the air as everyone begins to overwhelm you. before you can react, there is a burst of blue, water form the shape of blades pointed at every elder in the room. 

“all of you, hush!” it is your husband, hands clenched on the table and expression tight with rage. “had it not been for any of you, we would never be in this mess to begin with!”

the room is silent but for the ticking of the clock. his words ring through your head, a mixture of confusion and anger swirling in the pit of your stomach. 

“the elders?” your voice is just barely a whisper. “i spent nearly a decade wasting away in a loveless marriage and you want to blame the elders?!” 

your husbands eyes are wide when they meet yours, his mouth open as if his words were not meant to be his. 

you laugh coldly. “i knew you were a low creature, but i had never thought you to be pathetic enough to continue blaming everyone but yourself–”

“i do blame myself! i am the only one i blame!” ayato’s eyes are a mix of desperate blue and you’re not sure what to think of it. “i sleep alone and walk past empty rooms where you and sora used to play. i sit at an empty table where we used to eat. i waste away in a home of ghost and absent memories, do not tell me that i do not blame myself!”

“then where were you?” you think he’s unbelievable. “where. were. you? i brought her into this world alone. she received her vision without you. her first summer festival, without you. archons, ayato! where were you?!”

“i thought you hated me!”

“you’re the one who told me we were married for politics!”

“because i wanted you to hurt!”

“why?”

“because i love you!” he is huffing and attempting to catching his breath. he runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, looking around at the room of eyes all on him. lowering his voice, he continues, “from the moment i met you, i loved you, and i have never felt like i was enough and thought of bringing you anything but happiness did terrible things to me.”

you swallow the lump inn your throat. “so you abandoned me?”

he can’t meet your eyes. “i felt if you were too close, you might discover the worst of me. that maybe if you–”

“no. no, ayato, don’t be cruel,” you interrupt, shaking your head. You will not hear any of this. you stand from your chair, a look of anguish on your face when you meet those beautiful cerulean irises. “you have no right to say that.” 

he stands too, hand almost reaching towards you. “my dearest–”

“no!” your voice cracks and you pick up the skirt of your dress, back up towards the doors which you came in. “you can curse at me, insult me, do your worst, but you have no right to plead your love to me!”

sora stands from her chair and comes running to you, her small hands clasping at yours. you gather her in your arms, ordering the guards to open the doors. you turn to face your husband who, having rushed from the other side of the table, stands just meters away from you. 

“you are a cruel man, kamisato ayato.” your eyes are sharp with hatred, your expression twisted with pain. you bow in acknowledgement to the raiden shogun, who nods back. you meet the gazes of all the elders in the room before replying, “this trial is over, i will hear no more of your grievances.”

and you turn and run. you escape. you leave with sora in your arms your past on your tail.

because love shouldn’t hurt. it shouldn’t.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 5 (coming soon!)

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[kinley-cafe]

Kinley Café Current Menu

The menu may change based on the season or special holiday. Text version with full menu and item descriptions can be found below the cut

ORDER NOW

CONTACT DISPATCH

Drinks

🔥 "You Still Owe Me that Beer" Float  A deliciously tart and creamy root beer float made with quality craft beer and decadent French vanilla ice cream. This delightful treat comes with one turnout straw and one flight suit straw. 🔥 Fake Mouth Static Sparkling Tea  Extra fizzy kshhh butterfly tea ksshhh with honey, berries ksshhh and a helicopter ice cube 🔥 Cat 5 hurricane Cappuccino A rich and creamy cappuccino in a (possibly stolen) LAFD Helicopter themed mug.  🔥 “I took a guess” Mystery Coffee  Not like that. It’s definitely not what you want, but Buck tried his best and that’s all that matters. It's a random coffee with undisclosed, completely random ingredients, served in a green to-go coffee cup wrapped in a cardboard coffee cup sleeve, decorated all over with brown hearts and flames. 🔥“That Fire Was A Beast” thirst quencher  Hydrating strawberry dragon fruit, topped with whipped cream and soot colored chocolate drizzle. Served in a fire hydrant cup.

🔥 “You’re a vision” Birthday Cake Hot Chocolate A flirty and festive Belgian hot chocolate served in a red and blue cup, topped with a cloud of confetti whipped cream.

🔥 Buck’s Cozy Cup of Tea A nice, hot cup of black tea with lemon and honey. Each cup is wrapped securely with an (un)official LAFD crocheted cozy.

🔥 Harbor Station Pumpkin Spice Latte A mix of delicious traditional fall spices, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. It’s served in a special Air Ops Winged Cup with a golden pumpkin stirrer.

🔥 Saturday Sparkling Cider A warm malted cider, with all the Saturday Night craft flavor, and none of the alcohol. Served at room temperature so it’s not too hot, and not too cold. It’s just what you’re ready for.

Desserts

🔥 118 Cream Donut Bavarian Cream Donuts with fire engine red strawberry frosting and ember sprinkles.

🔥 Flying Lessons Fudge Bon Bons Delicious fudge-filled bon bons molded with a headset and wrapped in a pilot jumpsuit colored wrapper.

🔥 Are We Still Talking About Cake? Layered Vanilla cake with Strawberries, buttercream icing and a candy LAFD logo. Go ahead and take it to your table. So you can eat it.

🔥 Open Channel Chocolate Muffin Chocolate muffins topped with cream cheese frosting and chocie talkies (chocolate walkie talkie shaped chips) 🔥“I’m An Ally” Cookie Bar Delicious copycat Italian cookie bars with bisexual flag layers. Made for any ally, or…more than an ally.

🔥 Date Night Cookie Pizza A delicious skillet cookie pizza topped with ice cream strawberries and. A perfect treat for your (hopefully) uninterrupted first date.

🔥 “Be With Your Man” Brown Sugar Mug Cake This warm and delicious brown sugar mug cake captures the ambiance of Buck and Tommy’s cozy dinner at home. The patterns on the cup are inspired by items from Buck’s dinner table.

🔥 Adorable Apple Pie Super sweet mini apple pies baked by Tommy as an ode to Buck and just how adorable he is. Each one is baked in a turnout tin and brushed with strawberry jam to resemble Buck’s birthmark.

🔥 Firefighter’s Flaming Candy Apple A sweet, sugar candy coated California grown Gala apple, decorated with a blazing flame.

Buck’s Happy Hour

🔥“I am free” This eye opener cocktail is a refreshing and invigorating beverage that features rich coffee with deep, malty notes of stout that lingers in your mouth, much like the sweet taste of a first kiss. It combines vodka, cold-brew coffee, coffee liqueur, stout beer, and a sweet brown-sugar syrup. Garnished with heart shaped mint.

🔥The 24 Hour Shift A highly caffeinated, creamy cocktail with sweet and smooth flavors, made to keep you going for hours. This cocktail is blended with nitro brew, bourbon, brown sugar, and half and half, topped with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick. 🔥Intermittent Showers This cocktail is excitement in a glass. A rush of sweet, smooth and fizz, made with cold-brew coffee, club soda, berry infused rum, simple syrup, topped with silver storm cloud whipped topping and a mini chocolate helicopter.

🔥The “Tommy, Actually” Made with craft beer and espresso to combine strong, bold coffee with the rich flavors of beer, featuring the unexpected sweetness of the heavy cream, coffee liqueur, and whipped topping. Topped with whipped cream and Edible gold Air Ops Pilot Wings.

Anytime Menu

🔥 The Q Word Have you been jinxed? Order one of these special to-go combos to help you get through the chaos ahead.

🔥 “Badass Coffee Mug” Ready to go up? Order this combo whenever you’re in the mood  for a Harbor Station tour from a hot pilot to put a smile on your face.

🔥 “I Need Mo Joe” Looking for a little comfort? Maybe a certain adorable  firefighter can whip up a firehouse family combo for you

Call Dispatch (send an ask) anytime you’re looking for a little pick-me-up and put in an order for one of these combos. 

[irisfixation]

an invite to a show

(experimental writing piece. cw: trance-y language and a gently unsettling atmosphere, perhaps.)

Having a local kinkster acquaintance (in the midst of a play party, no less) ask if you'd like to go see a dance together was somewhat unusual, you'd thought at the time. Even more surprising was the here and now, as you passed between stall and stage, past tent and warehouse, through the local fringe festival, only to find yourself set up in front of a relatively regular theater stage.

Same half-ringed stage. Same curtains; same rows of seats (lower than usual, and with less capacity); same lights, set and framed just as any other, just beyond eye level. They nearly blind you as you step in from the mid-evening blues beyond.

There were other things in the festival you could have expected them to take you in. Adults-only shows, bondage showcases, risque dances in skimpy outfits, stage hypnosis routines, et cetera.

This was clearly not one of those. The banner image just outside the entrance was some classical ballet routine - you didn't recognize it off-hand - and aside from you and your friend you didn't particularly notice anyone else from your little band of Weird Horny Folks™.

Why the hell here in particular? The question bemused as much as it fascinated, really. Was it some elaborate setup, was one of the actors someone they knew? Was this merely an attempt at socializing that went too far? Is this a date?

You look to the one who invited you here. You phrased some of these confusions already when they told you, of course, but they'd just smiled and said a few words of consolation. "I dunno, it could be a date if you wanted it to be" - that kind of flirting, just vague enough to be played off.

Well, either way, you'd be finding out soon enough. A stagehand in shades of burgundy pulls the entrance door to, filtering out first the last streams of sunset light from the entryway, then the chatter and commotion of the festival beyond. The susurration of fellow viewers' friendly chatter dies down to whispers, then naught. The lights dim, slowly yet fluidly.

The curtains pull fully back, the shifting of fabric sliding smoothly across your ears. A beam of light alights upon the very center of the stage. Upon a woman.

She stands there with purpose, the stillness of a bowstring pulled taut, meeting the gaze of the audience before her. Meeting your gaze, within it.

Wordlessly, her chin dips; her arms move to the side as she curtseys. A slow, deep movement.

And then she begins to dance.

You watch, waiting, as she moves. It is a slow thing; hardly a fast-paced spectacle, but possessing of a certain confidence in each of its movements. A turn. A stretch. A slow stride across the stage, each step made as if in slow-motion.

She continues on; somewhere between a ballet and the movements of a sleepwalker. There's a certain sense of autopilot within it, like that of an automaton carrying out procedures done many times before. Of a familiarity that rejects haste.

There's always a certain intentionality to art; a piece of art preserved in a gallery is not so different from something placed on the street, after all. (As the old adage on abstract art goes: "I could have made this!" "But you didn't.") The woman's movements, you think, are similar; you could have easily passed the person in front of you in the street and barely notice. But right now, as you sit and watch, there is an intent clear and pure enough to reject any attempts to turn away.

Her movement winds down. She drifts to the center of the stage, and slowly but certainly ceases her movement.

The moment is heavy, hushed, oppressive. Her gaze holds above it almost tirelessly.

You and her remain there; you rooted to your seat, her anticipant in place, the outside world less than a whisper.

Slowly but surely, she raises an arm. You watch each micromovement as it happens, as her fingers splay out and knucklebones play against taut skin, the muscles across elbow and shoulder tensing, as tufts of her hair brush aside and she places a sole outstretched finger upon her cheek.

There is no music as she moves. None of the crowd says anything, and looking at them would mean missing whatever might come next, so you remain as you are, a body waiting in place for more of the act.

Her index finger, outstretched, traces down slowly but surely, a record needle's slide across grooves intended for teardrops. The edge of her nail moves with painstaking time, alights upon the edge of the lips, sways nigh-imperceptibly to and fro as it waits to move down again. You watch, focus more directed into making sure you see the next moment than it is your body.

It moves down again, slipping across to just beneath the chin. The stage seems to flutter, dreamlike; a buzzing inside scalp and forehead. A tension.

Further downwards, continuing its inexorable journey to just atop her sternum. You watch. (Some part of you wants to watch further down still, but it relents for the time being.) She raises it, phalanges pulling back, the tension within and without building, a bowstring drawn back;

She taps, just once, and you exhale, and the moment is broken and released from tension, and the world sucks in a breath all at once, and the buzz in your head slowly, patiently falls away.

឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵឵ ឵឵ ឵឵

A warm crescent moon and the warmer lights of the festival greet you as you leave. Your friend flicks their eyes to you momentarily as you exit the building, trying to prompt your opinion out of you.

You don't know. The stint of time inside the theater seemed to slip by before you could process through it all. You tell them simply that it was neat enough; that seems to sate them, and it's not nearly as important as things such as getting back on route after all.

It's gotten late far darker than you expected, after all. Time has moved by and left you in place, and you need to get home.

You'll have time to think properly another day.

[antiquepearlss]

Southern Headcanons

Old Corona lowkey gives off southern small town vibes so here’s some southern Varian + Quirin headcanons because I’m not projecting at all.

Starting off strong with a classic- Varian loves sweet tea. He makes it homemade and it’s 90% sugar and it’s most of what he drinks. Quirin isn’t a big fan, but he’ll drink it occasionally when Varian makes it. Same with Lemonade; Varian loves it, Quirin is neutral.

If Quirin isn’t working, he’s relaxing in a rocking chair on his front porch.

Varian is the type of person to watch tornadoes instead of seeking shelter. Quirin has to physically pick him up and drag him to the basement.

There’s a creek in Old Corona that the children all frequent. 

Most of Quirin’s diet is biscuits and gravy. It’s the southern old man meal. And southern fried steak. And fried potatoes with gravy. Also coleslaw, and fried green tomatoes, because again, old man.

Varian likes fried chicken and waffles, peach cobbler, pulled pork, chicken and dumplings, and cornbread. He ate coleslaw once and died a little inside.

Neither of them are big fans of catfish or shrimp, they’re just not big on seafood. Ulla was a fan, however.

Neither of them have thick accents, but with certain words it shines through. It also shines through if they talk fast, or for Varian, if he gets really excited. Or it comes out at random moments. Eugene and the girls make fun of him for it, Rapunzel thinks it’s cute, Lance thinks it sounds cool

Quirin has Bible verse decor in his house. He’s not even religious. Those just kind of materialize on your walls the first time you say y’all.

Quirin and Ulla had an apple themed kitchen.

Quirin absolutely has said “bless your heart”

Ulla wore gingham, a lot.

Varian has mason jars. Everywhere. And also reuses those butter containers. He managed to get them to contain acid.

Old Corona has a lot of potholes.

Varian’s favorite place to go as a kid was with his father to Rural King. He loved looking at the machinery and the baby chickens.

Varian knows how to use a riding mower and is quite skilled at it. He tried to teach Eugene (his city kid cousin) and he crashed into a tree.

There is little to nothing to do in Old Corona except for the occasional festival.

Oktoberfest goes hard there.

Quirin isn’t the most social but he does have the southern hospitality down. He’ll invite you in for lemonade or tea. He’ll just, barely talk. (He strikes me as the type to be quiet and awkward in small/intimate settings.) He also brings new neighbors homemade food.

Neither Quirin nor Varian care about sports, but they watch football to feel included. Sometimes they’ll root for opposing teams just for the fun of a playful rivalry with eachother, even though they have no idea what they’re talking about.

Quirin likes old country music. Varian claims to dislike country music, but listens to it sometimes. He never heard the end of it from the girls when they found out he loves Cary Underwood. Ulla had a collection of Dolly Parton vinyl that was passed down to Eugene for….some reason.

Quirin also likes some bluegrass and very much enjoys the blues.

Again, Quirin is not religious, but church on Easter used to be a must. Mostly because it was the only time he and Ulla could get Varian to wear a suit, and he looked adorable in one. (Now all Quirin has to do is ask Rapunzel to make Varian nice clothes and he’ll wear them gladly.)

Ulla planted a lot of magnolias in their garden. And hydrangeas.

Old Corona has a lot of block parties and just, spontaneous potlucks. 

If Varian wasn’t with his parents he was probably with the resident Old Person in Old Corona. He didn’t have many friends growing up, but older people loved him.

Quirin watches Andy Griffith.

Old Corona has one gas station and it has the best slushies. Whenever Rapunzel visits they go there.

Eugene kinda hates Old Corona. He’s a city boy. Rapunzel likes the open-ness.

Old Corona is the prettiest in the Fall.

Varian conveniently spills acid on nearby confederate flags.

[xaharadesert]

10 of my Favourite Horror (Adjacent) Movies and Why You Should Watch Them

(Not in any particular order or subgenre. TW are super vague, spoiler-free, and from my memory, but I would recommend looking up more specific ones before watching any of these if you are easily triggered. Not all triggers are listed because these are horror movies, so stuff like death and murder is to be expected.)

Let me know if y’all want a part 2, because I’ve got about 7 more! (It could have been one post if Tumblr didn’t limit my images to 10)

1. Parasite

A struggling lower class family slowly integrates itself into the household of a rich family without their knowledge.

Most of you have already seen this one, or been told to watch it. I am no different: this movie is popular for a very good reason. Divided into 3 clear acts, starting with comedy, and making its way through drama into horror. Also, great commentary on classism, very psychological at times and makes you wonder who you should really be rooting for.

Scary: 2/10

Gore: 3/10

Disturbing: 5/10

Psychological: 6/10

Actual genre: Dark comedy thriller

2. The House That Jack Built

Serial killer Jack recounts some of his most influential murders.

A bit infamous and controversial for being very messed up, but still really good. Highly psychological, with a lot of narration and use of metaphor. Especially fun if you have any knowledge of Dante’s Inferno. Definitely not one to watch if you want a protagonist to root for.

Scary: 3/10

Gore: 6/10

Disturbing: 10/10

Psychological: 8/10

Actual Genre: psychological horror art

TW: sexism, corpse mutilation

3. Creep (1&2)

A man is hired to help film messages from a dying man to his son.

I’m usually not a fan of found-footage, but there’s something special about Creep. On top of that, this is one of the few movies where I can confidently say I like the sequel more, which is shocking because the first one was amazing. Very funny and off-beat, with a sense of foreboding underlying the whole thing.

Scary: 3/10

Gore: 1/10

Disturbing: 3/10

Psychological: 4/10

Actual genre: found footage psychological horror

Edit: now has a TV show! Haven’t watched it yet, but saw some clips and it looks great! Follows the same formula as the movies :)

4. Mother!

A woman and her poet husband live quietly in a secluded house away from society.

Very metaphorical and highly feminist; definitely not a movie that everyone appreciates, but if you enjoy analysis or just being really weirded out then this is a good for you. Starts slow and snowballs toward the horrific climax.

Scary: 3/10

Gore: 7/10

Disturbing: 7/10

Psychological: 8/10

Actual genre: psychological horror

TW: cannibalism

5. Perfect Blue

Mima is a young pop star looking to join the acting industry.

Brutally realistic to the point where I had to stop watching and take a walk at one point. Very much “female rage” and a protagonist that will live in your head rent free for the next 6 years (or maybe that’s just me). Very triggering in a lot of ways, but worth it if you’re not sensitive to the topics it covers.

Scary: 5/10

Gore: 4/10 (animated)

Disturbing: 8/10

Psychological: 10/10

Actual genre: psychological thriller

TW: depersonalization/derealization, nudity, stalking, rape scene (she is acting in a tv show but it is still the most uncomfortable scene of the movie), inaccurate portrayal of DID

6. Midsommar

A couple and their friends go on a vacation to their friend’s remote hometown for a Midsommar festival.

Probably the best-known out of this list, and again for a good reason. 90% of the film takes place in broad daylight, and the visuals are absolutely gorgeous. Once again will bring up the question of who is in the right and who is in the wrong (I have the answer to this question and I will fight you in dms if you’d like).

Scary: 3/10

Gore: 8/10

Disturbing: 8/10

Psychological: 7/10

Actual genre: folk horror

TW: long and graphic sex scene, nudity, close up and graphic gore, cult stuff, suicide

7. The Call

A woman moves back to her childhood home and receives a call from the woman who lived there 30 years prior.

I got really into modern Asian horror films a few months ago and this is one of my favourites. The dynamic between the protagonist and antagonist is one of my favourites, and finishing this movie felt like finishing a 3 season TV show because of how well paced it was. Really hoping there will be a sequel with the same concept, even if it is not likely.

Scary: 6/10

Gore: 3/10

Disturbing: 6/10

Psychological: 6/10

Actual genre: psychological thriller

TW: abuse

8. Incantation

A cursed woman takes back custody of her young daughter and does everything she can to keep away the effects of her curse.

This one was popular on TikTok for a while, and for good reason. Another found footage in a more traditional sense, and a bit confusing at times, but overall a really solid scary story. Very cool effects as well.

Scary: 6/10

Gore: 4/10

Disturbing: 6/10

Psychological: 5/10

Actual genre: supernatural horror

TW: derealization

9. Pearl

A farm girl dreams about leaving home and living as a show girl.

Mia Goth is a national treasure, but we all knew that already. I watched this one before X (the actual first movie) because I didn’t know they were connected, but I much preferred this one. The Wizard of Oz vibes combined with Pearl’s unsettling behaviour made is a really creep film to watch.

Scary: 4/10

Gore: 4/10

Disturbing: 6/10

Psychological: 5/10

Actual genre: horror

TW: porn

10. The Platform

A man is stuck in a prison where a platform of food is lowered through the layers of cells for inmates to eat as they please.

I’m a sucker for psychological movies that take place in a very limited space. If you’ve ever played and enjoyed the game Presentable Liberty then I’m gonna go ahead and say you’ll like this too. Not every question is answered, but the film is more about the human condition than the prison they inhabit, so it’s not too much of a problem.

Scary: 2/10

Gore: 9/10

Disturbing: 8/10

Psychological: 9/10

Actual genre: social science fiction horror

TW: cannibalism, suicide

[risingoftime]

can i call you rose?

⤷ peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!reader: coriolanus and you celebrate your anniversary, slow dancing as you reminisce about the time you met.

The Covey sang softly, a sweet ballad that Coriolanus had written for your anniversary with Coriolanus. It had been a year since you’d met here in the hub, and every moment since then had felt like a dream.

You met Coryo on a drunken night and remember dancing wildly and letting loose on a hot Saturday night. Not a care in a world, as the music moved you. Amid your festivities, a body crashed into you, causing moonshine to spill on your shirt and the stranger who stood before you. Despite the mishap, his eyes captivated you like a bright pool of water, drawing you in. It was the first thing that caught your attention, even before you noticed his distinct accent, unlike any you had heard from District 12.

"Watch your step, pretty lady," he said with a charming smile, his voice conveying mystery and allure. Coriolanus didn’t have the twang in his voice that the locals had. Your palms began to sweat at the realization that you had spilled your drink on a Peacekeeper. But Coriolanus kept his hands steady on your waist with his alluring smile.

“Shit! I didn’t mean to-. I’m so sorry, sir,” you stuttered.

Coriolanus had been nothing but a gentleman and laughed softly at how quickly you transformed into such a timid thing.

He ignored your apology and replied, “May I have this dance?”

Coriolanus pulled you out of your trance when he peppered small kisses along your jawline down to your neck as he swayed with you along with the melody.

“Coryo-“

“Shhh, listen to the lyrics. I wrote them special for you.” Coryo held you close to him, and you could feel his steady heartbeat against your chest. Remaining in the moment, you focused on the words that The Covey sang.

“Can I call you Rose?

Cause you're sweet like a flower in blue

Can I call you Rose?

Cause your fragrance takes over the room

Darling, I wanna plant you in my heart, oh

So love can grow

Can I call you Rose?

Cause your thorns won't let blood in too soon

Can I call you Rose?

Cause your roots have the power to consume me.”

Tears welled in your eyes as the euphemism within the song hit its poignant note. Speechless, you watched as Coriolanus gingerly pulled away, his piercing crystal blue eyes locking with yours—two souls connected in a wordless exchange, foreheads pressed in a tender moment of silent understanding.

“I love you,” he whispered. Coriolanus slid down onto one knee and took out the silver compact with an engraved rose on it. Revealing the prettiest ring that you had ever seen.

“Will you marry me?”

navigation