#COINS AND CANDY || THREADS

[chlorinecake]

「 𓍯𓂃 I KISSED HER FOREHEAD AND NOW SHE'S 𝒢IVING ME CRYSTALS ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 」

𝐢𝐞. super Y2K crush scenarios with 𝐍𝑒𝕨 𝐉𝚎𝐚𝕟s

── ✰⋆⁺ 𓊆ྀི . . path to bookshelf ◍ 𓊇ྀི 🔮 虹 . . . 𝔸ᶰĎ 𝒴𝐨𝕌 ?. . .

❖︎ pa𝓲ring .ᐟ 뉴진스 x female!reader

❖ g𝓮nre .ᐟ fluff, comfort, wlw, friends to lovers

❖ 𝒘𝗈𝗋𝖽 count .ᐟ 𝟏,𝟎𝟒𝟏 total ✩ ✩ ✩

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐈 ── ❝ You smell pretty today... ❞

“You too!” You blurted out, right before realizing you'd gotten your words mixed up, “Wait- I meant to say you look pretty, but... I guess I mean both? Gosh, does that even make sense?”

A tiny smile spread across Minji's features at your adorable timidness, her boot-clad feet taking a few steps towards you before pulling you close, gracing your frame with a tender hug, “It makes perfect sense, weirdo… thanks...”

Her voice was calm and soothing as usual, despite the way it made butterflies swarm in the spot where your heart should be. You couldn't really explain it, but something about Minji's energy always had a way of making you look and feel like a lovesick geek by time you got a proper sentence out—

“So,” she began again, breaking from the embrace and looking you straight in the eye, her hands resting at your shoulders, “when were you gonna tell me about this little crush you have on me?”

Your eyes widened like you had seen a ghost, a nervous chuckle slipping past your lips as she tilted her head at you, just as you muttered a distracting, “Right after I told you which Victoria's Secret fragrance I'm wearing?”

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐌 ── ❝ Crystals? As a gesture?... ❞

“Pfft, of course!” Hanni replied matter-of-factly, “just like how you gave me coins for that gum-ball machine we passed earlier… but who's keeping track of all that stuff anyways?”

“You, apparently...,” you said as a gentle laugh escaped your lips at her quirky reply, “but touché, Hanni Pham... what should I do with these?”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, cupping your right palm in her own as the colorful stones glittered beneath the mall’s sunroof, “you can put them under your pillow at night!... o-or maybe even stash them in your purse so you can think about me wherever you go!”

“As if I'd need a crystal’s assistant with that,” you teased, ruffling her hair slightly with your free hand. “These are cool, though,” you went on, heart warming at both the feeling of your hand in hers and at the unique gift, “very sweet of you...”

“Eh, I tryyyy,” she replied smugly, right before blowing a tiny pink bubble with the gum she chewed, only to spit the leftover candy into a napkin and ask, “wanna close your eyes and guess what flavor you taste on me?...”

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇 ── ❝ I like your sweater… ❞

“Oh, this old thing?” Danielle asked with her warm Australian accent, taking the colorful sweater’s hem in her fingers to examine it's loose threads, “My nana knit this for me like... forever ago...”

“Well it's cool to see she was a step ahead of fashion trends back then,” you smiled, letting your hand brush over the soft yarn of her sleeve... That's when a certain question arose in your head:

“Random, but by chance, are you any good with using chopsticks?” You asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.

“Oh, for sure! I’m basically a pro at it,” she boasted, flipping her curly locks in a cartoonish manner.

“Sweet! I have two coupons for two different places. One for a craft store, and another for a sushi bar… only thing is that they both expire tomorrow,” You went on, hoping that she'd catch your drift without you having to state any specifics...

“Oh? Well it'd be a total bummer to let them go to waste,” she shrugged, hooking her arm in yours before tugging you along with her, “we better get going quick before they run out of sashimi… or yellow yarn…”

𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍 ── ❝ Can I come in please...? ❞

You heard a gentle voice call from behind your bedroom door, face buried into the largest pillow you could find given the sob-fest you had earlier…

“The door’s unlocked,” you sniffled, turning over on your bed to face her as she peaked from behind the door, her bright smile not even fading at the sight of you.

“I brought some heartwarming treats and DVD’s!” She began, voice just as pleasant as it always was. Haerin made her way to sit beside you on the bed, opening one of your favorite candy bars and handing it to you.

“How’d y’know I was upset?” You asked before taking a bite of the candy, chuckling a bit at the way she watched you so intently while doing so.

“I didn’t,” she went on plainly, “… I already wanted to surprise you today and just got lucky that it ended up being at a time where you needed it most…”

“Awww,” you pouted, dropping the candy bar to pull her into a hug, “you’re literally the best friend I could ask for, Haerin… thank you for coming to see me…”

“Of course,” she whispered, mind lingering on the word friend for a moment, even though she was certain you meant something a little more than that…

“So,” she began again, breaking from the contact and reaching for the TV remote, “Wanna rewatch Mean Girls or Clueless first?”

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐘𝐄𝐈𝐍 ── ❝ Can I touch your hair? ❞

You asked the question for one reason: You were bored out of your mind from waiting at the bus stop, and playing with Hyein’s hair seemed like a fun way to pass the time…

“Oh, sure!” She chirped, immediately straightening her posture on the park bench as you scooted closer to where she sat, taking her wavy locks into your grasp.

Hyein’s round eyes wandered to the sparkly pink Juicy Couture purse you wore over your shoulder, compelling her to ask, “What’s in the bag?”

“Oh- just some barrette’s and hair clips I got from Claire’s yesterday,” you replied, pausing to click open your purse and show her the different kinds, “Thought you might be interested in some extra bling, so…”

“You know me far too well then, ____,” she smiled, scanning each package with her eyes before suggesting that you decide which hair-clip style she would wear, and vice versa.

You let out a simple “Okay” at her offer, reaching for the pack of silver shooting stars for her hair while she held the pack of butterfly clips beside your face, a satisfied look spreading across her features.

“These are gonna look gorgeous on you,” Hyein smiled, right before opening the pack of butterflies clips and popping a few different colored ones in her palm, “This is too fun already, hehe… I can decorate your hair first, right?…”

ʚ 𝐀𝒰𝐓ᕼ𝕆𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝕆T𝐸: I decided to explore the wlw genre for a change, and I have no one other than @jwanniie to thank for inspiring me to experiment on my platform in such a way through her works... I've always wanted to write for my fav GG's just like how I write for my fav BG's, but simply never found the courage to until now ~ Hopefully you guys enjoyed what I came up with! ɞ

❖ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @nikisvanillaccola @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @addictedtohobi @ot7sevenlvr -> if GG content isn’t your thing, pls lmk and I’ll refrain from tagging you in such posts moving forward :3

[ddejavvu]

Animagus reader tucking herself into Sirius’s bag when she doesn’t feel like walking down to Hogsmeade on the weekends? He happily carries her around as they enjoy their weekend together 🥹

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

--

To passersby, Sirius Black looks certifiably insane, head ducked to his side as he croons at his messenger bag. Occasionally, you pop your tiny, furry face out of the side, and he looks slightly less strange, but you spend most of your time bundled in the warm, dark tote as it bumps rhythmically against his thigh, so Sirius is stuck talking to thin air.

"D'you want some chocolate, darling?" He asks, passing by the humidity clouded windows of Honeydukes, the frost chilling the window panes to obscure the store's sugar-filled insides, "Or- can cats eat chocolate?"

After a plaintive meow from the depths of his bag, he adds, "I know you can, babe. But I don't wanna take any chances with you now."

A fourth-year gives him a wary glance and a wide berth as he tries maneuvering around Sirius in the doorway, but Sirius steps into the store regardless, and the girl dashes off to a shelf away from him. Sirius pays no mind to the strange glances he receives, only beelining for your favorite sweets, a corner of the store that he knows by heart.

Paying for your candy means that he has to open his bag, and you hiss resentfully at the light that floods your safe haven. He digs for his coin purse, dangling the tasseled ends against your nose for a moment while the person in front of him rings up his stash. He laughs when you swat at it, but has to detangle the fraying thread from your claws when it's his turn to pay.

The cashier gives you an adoring glance over the counter, a sweet smile on her aged face as she rings up Sirius's total, "She's lovely. What's her name?"

Sirius flounders for only a second, knowing that the cashier knows you well, and giving her your real name would not be a wise decision. Instead, he looks at your paws, fur stark white against the rest of your coat, and he blurts, "Mittens."

"Mittens," The cashier gushes, and Sirius is certain that you only spare her the wrath of your claws because she's kind and elderly, so when she reaches over to smother you in a generous pat, you let her. But Sirius can tell you're not pleased, so he quickly wraps up the transaction and bids her good day.

"Get over it," Sirius mutters to his messenger bag, "Couldn't tell'er your real name, love. She'd know it was you. But I got you candy, so I think you should just forgive me."

You seem to deliberate it, deathly still inside his bag while he hurries away from the shop to find somewhere to sit. When you prove docile he grins, opening your candy and sticking it into the messenger bag for you, "You're welcome, Mittens-" And when your claws dig sharply into his leg as a very firm warning, "-Ow!"

[jokeringcutio]

"This is a Nice Job" - Black Phone & FNAF Crossover - Reader Insert (Implied William Afton x Reader & Grabber x Reader) [ 1/?]

AN: As I am known to do, I might just start a few drabbles in this setting because I love it.

Summary: You're working at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place for William Afton and Mr. Henry, when you have a chat with the hired magician for the day: The Great Al.

Fandoms: Five Nights at Freddy's, The Black PhoneRating: Teen? Warnings: Older man/younger woman, Nothing Explicit (yet), Only implied William Afton x Reader & Grabber(Albert Shaw) x Reader, Flirting with murderers? Reader likes her job around kids. Not betaread. [ Support x ]

This was actually inspired by @cartoonykat's ask:

Loud music filled your ears, interrupted by the occasional shouts of little children as you darted between the tables, a tray of fizzing drinks balanced precariously in your grip. The squeals and laughter of children swirled around you, their faces smeared with icing and joy. You placed a paper cup before each eager set of hands, your smile never faltering.

"Careful now, don't spill," you murmured, patting a small head as its owner looked up at you with wide, grateful eyes.

"Thank you!" the child chirped, clutching the drink like a treasure.

"Happy to help," you replied, your voice a soft melody amid the cacophony of celebration.

Your gaze swept across the room, ensuring all was well, when the sudden hush of captivated little ones snagged your attention. There, at the center of the restaurant, stood Albert Shaw, the hired magician for today’s party. Freddy’s Pizza Place usually had a few performers they worked with, including a clown and this magician. His white-painted face was stark against the backdrop of colorful streamers, his large sunglasses hiding eyes that held secrets darker than the void.

‘The Great Al’, they called him, as he conjured silk scarves from his large top hat, making them dance like serpents charmed by his will alone. With the hat off you could see the shoulder-length dark hair that he hid underneath his hat most of the time. It was already turning grey, betraying his age which was harder to pinpoint with all the makeup covering his face.

He plucked coins from behind ears, eliciting gasps and giggles from his audience, each trick a thread in the tapestry of his dark artistry. He was good with the kids, you thought. His low voice occasionally made its way over the music that he had playing in the background. You found yourself rooted to the spot, your heart thudding a dangerous rhythm.

"Watch closely," he intoned, his low gravelly voice a siren's call that reverberated through your bones. A deck of cards appeared in his hands, flickering through his fingers as if alive. Strong hands, you noted. Thick fingers. Delicious. No – You shook the dirty thoughts away. You shouldn’t be thinking about one of the restaurant’s performers like that.

And then, with a flourish that defied logic, the cards transformed into a flurry of doves, their wings beating against the still air of the restaurant. The children erupted in applause, but you barely heard them. Your pulse quickened. The magician smiled as he revealed a small box and teased the kids with it. It was empty, but after a magical spell, the box was suddenly filled with enough candy to share around. You’d seen this performance several times now, and every time he managed to captivate you.

"Impossible," someone whispered beside you, echoing the disbelief that churned in your thoughts.

Al's performance built to a crescendo, the very air charged with anticipation. With a final bow, he finished, receiving thunderous cheers from his young fans.

"Amazing," you breathed, the word slipping out like a prayer to a deity you were only beginning to comprehend.

"Excuse me,” the voice cut through the din of merriment, stark and commanding. You flinched, recognizing the voice before you turned around. “Could you come here for a moment?"

Oh no, have I done something wrong? The worried voice echoed inside your mind. I was only looking for a moment, Mr. Afton, you thought to yourself, focusing on what you could say in your defense. I was still on the job and paying attention.

Mr. Afton, your boss and one of the restaurant’s owners, stood in the dimly lit entrance to his office, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He was tall, his stature was impressive for a man of his age. Already greying at the top, hair thinning, large glasses enlarging his eyes, belly poking out from underneath his arms.

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the excited group of kids that had gathered around Albert Shaw. But duty called, its voice as inescapable as gravity. With one last glance at the festive chaos of the party, you made your way toward your boss, the weight of his stare pulling you forward like a marionette on taut strings.

"Mr. Afton," you greeted him, striving for a tone of respectful professionalism despite the unease coiling in your stomach.

"Come inside my office," not a question, but a demand thinly veiled with kindness. His lips curled into a semblance of a smile, not quite reaching the coldness of his eyes behind those aviator glasses.

Mr. Afton was a tall man, taller than most that you met in your life. His hair was thinning on top and greying but still had a lively curl to it. His eyes seemed larger behind the thick glasses he wore. Strands of grey adorned his pepper-and-salt beard. He was the exact definition of a ‘dad bod’.  In fact, you had heard he had a family, even though you’d never seen them. Rumors said he was divorced.

You followed him inside to see a large desk, files, and papers strewn all over it. There was an animatronic in the corner of the room, purple, with ears hanging. You thought it might be some kind of rabbit.

The thud of the door closing behind you made you jump and you turned to look behind you to see Afton had closed it. His eyes met yours, only for a short while, and you fidgeted nervously with your hands because… had you done something wrong? Had he caught you looking at the magician? That must have been it, there was nothing else it could have been. He must think you to be slacking. But you weren’t. You were still alert, still focused on any peep from a parent or child.

You needed this job and actually liked it more than you thought you would.

"I've been watching you,” your boss started, licking his lips as he walked toward his desk and then turned to lean against it. He folded his arms in front of his chest, his purple tie wrinkling with the motion against his yellow blouse. The sleeves were pulled up, showing strong forearms riddled with veins and scars.

“You have a knack for this,” he started in that low, stern voice of his. “Keeping the little ones entertained."

"Thank you, sir," you replied, shuffling awkwardly in front of his desk. There was a chair there, but should you sit down? He remained standing so you should too, right? Your mind was racing. Had you done something wrong? Had you not followed protocol? Was your uniform in order?

"I just want to make sure they're all having a good time," the words stumbled from your lips, clumsily and awkwardly, but the smile you managed afterward seemed to soften the look in Mr. Afton’s eyes.

"Indeed." He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, like a storm cloud blotting out the sun. "However, I couldn't help but notice you seemed... distracted. By the magician, was it?"

You swallowed hard, caught off guard. "He's very talented," you deflected, but Mr. Afton's gaze pierced through your defenses, reading unspoken words.

“I,” you hesitated and watched as your boss raised a brow. Swallowing down your fear and gathering your courage, you spoke up again, louder this time. “I was still keeping an eye on the kids and delivering orders though. I might have seemed distracted but I was still doing my job.”

“So it seems,” Mr. Afton murmured, pressing a finger against his lips thoughtfully. You watched the wrinkle between his eyes deepen as he frowned.

"Be careful," he murmured, his voice silk over steel. "You are a pretty girl and I have noticed the man has been looking at you. People aren't always what they seem." There was a warning there, wrapped in the velvet of concern, yet it felt like a threat all the same.

"Of course, Mr. Afton. I'll remember that." Your words were steady, but inside, confusion and curiosity churned. Why did it feel like he cared? And why did it matter so much?

"Good." He clasped your shoulder briefly – a gesture that tried to be fatherly but felt possessive. "Keep up the good work. We need employees like you."

"Thank you, sir." You nodded, excusing yourself from his heavy gaze, a strange sense of relief flooding you as you stepped back into the colorful light of the party.

But as you returned to refilling cups and plating slices of cake, you couldn't shake the feeling of Mr. Afton's eyes on you, nor could you ignore the tingling sensation where his hand had been.

What had that been all about?

You wove through the sea of balloons and streamers, your heart still thudding from Mr. Afton's cryptic parting words. The din of the party enveloped you, a cacophony of glee that almost drowned out the lingering unease. Almost.

The magician, Albert Shaw, stood center stage, lowering his sunglasses to reveal his pale eyes sweeping over the crowd like a predator surveying prey. Tiny hands clapped with fervor as he flourished his final trick – a bouquet appearing from thin air. The children squealed, their delight pure and infectious. But when your gaze met his, something flickered there – an abyss that beckoned and repelled.

"Bravo!" The word slipped from your lips, but the echo in your mind whispered caution.

"Thank you, my dear audience!" Shaw's voice wrapped around the room, velvet lined with smoke. His bow was elegant, yet each movement seemed calculated, a dance with shadows only he could see.

As you slipped behind the bar, the festive chaos became a blur. You began stacking cups, the routine task grounding you. You missed Erica and Lucy. They at least pulled you into conversations every now and again. Today, your only colleagues were Mike and El, who were just teenagers whose hormones had started to work and who were way too busy with each other than with managing the tables. And there were Justin and Jax. The two J’s. Boys who had worked here for so much longer than you that they often forgot you were there and were mostly talking to each other.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts, focusing on the music that played from the speakers softly in the background, that you hadn’t noticed the magician’s approach until his presence loomed over you. Albert Shaw leaned against the polished wood, his silhouette casting a long shadow in the neon glow.

"Could I trouble you for a glass of water?" His request was simple, mundane, but it crawled under your skin, insistent.

That voice, you thought, hearing that deliciously dark rasp in it. Was he a smoker? Whatever caused his voice to sound like that, it worked for you. It did things no employee should have to go through during working hours.

Embarrassing really.

"Of course," you replied, your voice steady despite the tremble in your fingers. "It's on the house," you joked. You poured the water, the liquid crystal clear and innocent, an odd contrast to the darkness that seemed to cling to him.

"Generous," he remarked, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. It was a smile that promised secrets, a whisper of sin.

“I do have lemonade, soda, perhaps a fizzy drink?” You offered, cocking a brow. “I know there are cans of beer in the back. I could get a real drink for you. No costs.”

The man’s expression was hard to read, with all the makeup and the dark glasses hiding his bright eyes once more. But you thought you could see his smirk grow. His fingers curled around the glass of water, muscles tensing.

“A soda, then,” he said after a contemplative hum. “I still need to drive home.”

“A soda it is then,” you confirmed, looking at him from over your shoulder as you set to work to get him his free drink. “Most men prefer the beers.”

“Like I said,” his gravelly voice came while he tapped the brim of his top hat. “Got to drive.”

You watched as he sipped from his glass of water. Little droplets of sweat were running down the sides of his cheeks, smudging the white of his makeup.

“Responsible,” you murmured, placing the soda in front of him. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thanks.” He took the glass, fingers brushing yours. Electric. Intentional. You inhaled sharply, the air suddenly thick with something unspoken.

Your pulse raced. This man was danger masquerading as charm, and yet, you were drawn like a moth to a flame.

You cleared your throat and quickly turned away.

"Nice performance," you managed, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. The innocence of the party around you clashed with the intensity of the moment, the frivolity of balloon animals and birthday cake juxtaposed against the enigma before you. You were vaguely aware of eyes upon you, but when you looked up, all of your co-workers were busy minding themselves.

“You’ve seen me perform before,” the magician said. Touché. He was right there. “Was today’s better than all my other performances? Or just not as bad?”

You turned to face him again, forcing a small smile.

“It’s always a pleasure to watch your shows,” you hesitatingly confessed. Were your cheeks red again? Could he see that you were blushing? You hoped not. You clumsily started to wipe the bar with a wet rag, wiping away stains of spilled drinks and oily fries.

"Albert Shaw," he introduced himself formally, though you already knew. His name had been murmured in hushed, awed tones all day. He was on the list in the backrooms, hired via Abracadabra Entertainment & Supplies. You knew Afton and Henry bought most of their balloons and garlands from them as well. Although the agency wasn’t as big as Ha-Ha’s, from which they hired their clowns.  

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Shaw." Your reply was automatic, but your mind was alight with curiosity and a dangerous thrill. You lifted the wet rag, showing you couldn’t shake hands with him, to which he took no notice. He reached for your free hand, despite it being wet from the rag as well, took it without hesitation, and shook it.

You stood frozen, uncertain of what to do or how to react, when his hand was already long gone. But Albert was already talking, seemingly unaware of how the little gesture – that little skin-on-skin contact – had rattled you.

"Please, call me Albert." His tone was insistent, a command cloaked in courtesy.

"Then you should call me…" You cut yourself short, almost giving away more than you meant to, "a fan of your work." Not that he wouldn’t know your name by now. It was on a badge on your chest.

"Perhaps one day," he said softly, "you'll show me what you're a fan of up close." The suggestion hung heavy between you, tantalizing and terrifying.

"Maybe," you breathed, the word barely more than a whisper.

As he leaned forward, his finger darted out to the badge on your chest. “Pretty name,” the words tumbled from his lips far more erotically than they should have. “Fits you.”

He then leaned back on the stool in front of the bar and picked up his glass while you spun around with cheeks all flushed, the wet rag still in your hands. You made the error of pressing the rag against your forehead, making you wince and leave for the backroom to get rid of it and dry your head.

This man was making you do weird things.

Upon your return, he was still at the bar, finishing a talk to one of the parents, and seemed to have taken his glasses off. Finally. Wearing sunglasses indoors was weird. As the dad left, Albert turned back to you and nursed his drink. Your eyes deliberately focused on the kids playing, rather than on the way the magician’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank.

Yup. Definitely not going to look at that.

“You’re enjoying this job, aren’t you?” Albert’s words caught you by surprise and you turned to him.

“Well, yes,” you said, because it was obvious. At least you hoped it was.

“You’re smiling radiantly. Like a bright star in the night,” Albert said, a toothy smile cracked the white of his makeup.

“Well," you replied, trying to steady your breathing. "Their laughter, it's... it's infectious." Your words fluttered out, betraying the turmoil within.

"Laughter, yes," he echoed, but something about his tone felt off. It gave you that weird shivery feeling down your spine. "The sound of pure... innocence."

He drank the soda, watching you over the rim of the glass, and you knew that this was no ordinary thirst. This was the thirst of a man accustomed to getting what he desires, by means unknown and best left unexplored.

You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his stare heavy on your skin and you vaguely excused yourself. “I got swipe behind here too or the boss will think I’m not working.” Anything to get away from his eyes.

“Of course,” Albert replied, the grin never leaving his face.

“Didn’t he used to perform as well?” Albert’s question surprised you and you blinked up, already holding a broom in your hands.

“Huh?”

Albert hummed. “The yellow bunny suit, if I remember correctly. He told me about it once.”

You had to stifle a laugh. “What’s up with you performers and hiding your faces?” You asked. “You, the clowns, all use makeup. And the acrobat lady too. Or they wear big suits with masks.”

"Ah, but we all wear masks, don't we?" Albert tilted his head, a lock of greying hair falling across his brow.

"Sometimes without knowing it," you agreed, feeling the truth of those words more than you cared to admit. Then you sighed, the broom nearly slipping out of your hands.

“I don’t like wearing masks though,” you admitted almost dreamily. “I like to show the world who I really am. Putting on a front seems incredibly tiresome to me, don’t you agree?”

When your eyes met those of Albert, they were unreadable.

“It’s an astonishing thing, to be bashfully and unashamedly oneself.” The words came out brittle, then he reached into the pocket of his black coat.

"Here," he said, slipping a card from his sleeve with a flourish that made you jump. The black and red design swirled before your eyes, hypnotic. "In case you ever need a touch of magic."

His smile was a predator's grin, yet oddly charming.

“Got to do all my advertising myself. And since you were impressed…”

"Thank you," you stammered, feeling the card's smooth edges as you took it. The numbers danced under your fingertips, promising things unsaid.

"Call anytime," he added with a wink. It felt like a secret pact, one you weren't sure you wanted to be part of.

"Maybe I will," you murmured, pocketing the card, the heat of the exchange lingering like a spell.

As he turned to leave, Mr. Afton's shadow fell over you, icy and suffocating. You looked up to find his gaze locked onto yours, unreadable. Was it anger? Curiosity? Longing?

"Good work today," he said, each word measured and precise, but there was something else in his tone. A darkness that coiled beneath the surface.

"Thank you, Mr. Afton," you responded automatically, trying to sound unaffected. But your heart raced, betraying your composure.

"Keep our guests happy," he continued, his voice low, commanding. "That's what keeps them coming back."

"Of course," you nodded, but his eyes never left yours, pinning you like a butterfly in a case.

After a silence that felt like an eternity, Mr. Afton’s stern gaze finally left your face and he turned away from you. “Good girl,” it was but a low whisper, and you had to blink, wondering if the words had been real or if you had imagined them.

The moment you came out of your daze, Mr. Afton had returned to his office, seating himself behind his desk and leaving the door ajar so that he was in your field of vision. Your eyes searched the bar, but it seemed that ‘The Great Al’ had left.

As you watched Mr. Shaw vanish behind the swinging double doors, a shiver crawled up your spine. Laughter and chattering filled your ears, pulling you back to the here and now. And when you looked up, it was to see Mr. Afton as he lifted his eyes from the papers he was working on. Pale eyes that rested upon you for just a tick too long.

You loved your job, but whatever was going on here, you had no clue. The possibilities that filled your mind were too weird to consider. Patting the card hidden away on your body as a silent reminder to put it in your bag before you went home, you decided to ignore the weird tension that had been in the room earlier. And with a smile on your face, you went back into the sea of kids.

You loved this job and all the odd people you met through it.

AN: Guys, I did a thing (: Have you noticed the Arthur Fleck/Joker hints in it.

[neonblessing]

1.

The cats were fighting, and Maggie was singing to them. It was Tater's birthday, apparently. How wonderful.

Shiv cracked her eyes open. The ceiling looked like shit: the paint was peeling, and there was some sort of stain spreading from one corner. The harsh morning light of the street lamps streamed into the room through the busted shade, casting crooked bars of shadow across the room.

The rest of the house looked worse than the ceiling. The cats had left scratches on everything they could reach, and time and neglect had left their marks on anything the cats couldn't. The furniture all looked out of place, collected over decades and haphazardly repaired.

From somewhere in the mismatched house, Maggie was babbling to her cats. "Come on, Candy. Share the fish with your brother. It's his birthday. Share the fish with the birthday baby!" Potato Chip's mournful wail filled the air, accompanied by the sound of chewing and a wary hiss.

Shiv sat up, wincing. She wrenched her head from side to side experimentally, to no avail. Rubbing her neck, she awkwardly swung her legs off the couch and stood up. Shiv picked her way over to the kitchen, for once managing not to stub her toe on the cabinet that protruded into the door frame.

"Morning, Mags."

Maggie jumped as Shiv spoke. "Oh, good morning! I made coffee." Maggie was fucking old. Her eyes were older than Shiv: they were some vintage shit, with protruding lenses that stopped her eyelids from properly closing. An awful little part of Shiv figured their value was somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 grand from an avid collector.

"Where'd you get the fish?" Shiv took a mug off its hook and poured herself some lukewarm coffee. The slogan on the side of the mug demanded silence, at least until the bearer had finished their name-brand coffee. The winking face of a defunct coffee logo grinned up at her as she took a sip.

"A trader's in town, just for the day. Some sort of pilgrim."

"Anything else good?"

"Protein bars, holy symbols, ID chips, and..." she looked around, as if Shiv hadn't swept the place for bugs last week, and dropped her voice. "...ammunition. No guns."

"What did you give him?"

"Some of the kitchen knives."

"You gave him knives for a fish?"

Maggie wrung her leathery hands nervously. "It's Potato Chip's birthday! Besides, they were getting dull."

"You have a whetstone!"

"I don't know how to use it right, and you..." she trailed off, but couldn't stop the glassy lenses of her eyes from flickering to Shiv's shoulder. Or rather, to where her shoulder used to be. Maggie swallowed, her gaudily-dyed hair bobbing in distress.

"I could have taught you! And Tater didn't even get to eat his fish." A contented Candy Bar wound her way about Maggie's legs, purring. Maggie opened and closed her mouth a few times, but said nothing.

Shiv wordlessly grabbed her bag off the couch. It still smelled like the factory that made it, even after a month. Much as it irked her to waste money–she’d already owned a perfectly serviceable bag–this one had velcro. Zippers were too much trouble these days.

She tore it open to behold the extent of her worldly possessions. A change of clothes. Her knife, the one Raz had given her. Rope. A pack of bandages. Disinfectant. Four days of nutrient bars. A wallet, empty save for a credit card and a few coins. A well-worn prayer tablet. A needle and a spool of thread. A ballpoint pen. Content that everything was where it should be, she closed the bag.

Shiv swung her bag over her good shoulder, then fumbled with the doorknob for a moment, nearly dropping her mug. Maggie took half a step forward as if to help, but whatever she saw in Shiv's eyes kept her rooted in place. Shiv pulled the hood of her coat up over her head, and turned to leave. "I… Sorry. I'm going out. Be back by midnight unless I get shot."

Next Page

[soisaidfine]

pitchfork: The 100 best songs of the 2020s so far. 29: Ethel Cain: “American Teenager”

"From the blissfully ignorant months before the pandemic to Brat Summer, here are the greatest songs that moved culture, coined genres, and are still stuck in our heads."

"War, whiskey, Jesus, football, NASCAR, Journey, the First Amendment: “American Teenager,” Ethel Cain’s closest brush with pop’s mainstream, scoops up morsels of Americana like penny candies from a bin. The song is stitched with threads of the singer’s biography—small-town upbringing, God-fearing family—and her most effervescent songwriting impulses. It’s Bruce Springsteen’s populism and the ethereal incantations of Cain’s idol Florence Welch, packaged in shimmering, reverb-drenched arena-pop. But the specters of death, addiction, and isolation show up in the verses, mucking up the song’s sheen. A whiff of the guitar solo from “Don’t Stop Believin’” ties an ironic bow around this ode to disillusionment—a fist-pumping anthem of solidarity for all the young people that the American dream leaves behind." –Olivia Horn, PITCHFORK

Video: American Teenager, Ethel Cain, teaser 2022 on TikTok

[ducktoonsfanart]

Donald and Daisy Duck with their kids - Scrooge McDuck and Magica De Spell with Webby and Minima - Quack Pack Week - Valentine's Day and Holidays (Quack Pack AU) - Quack Pack and Duckverse

I wish everyone a happy Valentine's Day! And sorry for the delay! For this thread, I drew two drawings (admittedly the second drawing was drawn two years ago, but I'm posting it now) and it's related to one of my favorite couples in the Duckverse and I apologize if it bothers anyone.

The first drawing I drew shows Donald giving his love Daisy Duck a candy box with chocolate hearts as well as three purple tulips, and Daisy is all happy with that, although she prefers it when Donald treats her nicely and the material gifts aren't that important, but the real feelings you feel for someone. And so in this case, although Donald prefers to give with attention as a sign of love. And there are their children, Donald's nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie, as well as Daisy's nieces April, May and June as teenagers in my version supporting their uncle and aunt. And behind them is a background with mountains and fir trees, as well as snow that has persisted, because it is still winter.

Another drawing that is more of an old drawing is Scrooge McDuck in a Scottish kilt with Magica de Spell, an old rival but new partner. Yes, I know it bothers some people, although Scrooge and Magica, as frenemies, have a lot in common, and maybe they have a secret love. However, in my Quack Pack AU, after a long time of rivalry, Scrooge reconciled with Magica and somehow they have a romantic relationship. Scrooge won't let Magica touch his first coin though, and this is just my version of what Scrooge and Magica would look like in the Quack Pack. In addition to them, there is Webby, Scrooge's adopted niece as well as Magica's niece Minima as a teenager who is no longer the good old girl she used to be, but more mean, and I drew it to suit her. Despite their differences, they would still work together and be best friends (inspired by the Ducktales comic "Dime After Dime" from 1991). And then there's Ratface, Magica's pet crow. Yes, I drew that drawing two years ago. And this is just my alternative Quack Pack version, because in addition to Magica, Scrooge also has Goldie and Brigitta, as well as other ladies who are Scrooge's loves, although Scrooge's true love is money. Again, everyone is entitled to their love partners. Still, I kinda like Scrooge and Magica together in the Quack Pack for the hilarious comedy, but that's just my opinion.

I hope you like these drawings and these ideas and these love couples and feel free to like and reblog this, just don't use the same versions of me without mentioning me and without tagging my name. Thank you. By the way, this is addressed, @quackpackweek. And once again, happy Valentine's Day!

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 3)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (2) | Next (4)

Word Count: 3k

------ Chapter 3: The Threads of Fate ------

Candy Caramello went to town to sell vegetables. Her mother was usually responsible for this task, but she was hungover, so she sent Candy to go, once she was finished milking the cows. Candy didn’t mind, though, as she liked to get away from her tedious routine of drudgery on the farm to enjoy the sights of the city. 

In particular, she liked to admire all the cute boys. Candy was a hopeless romantic, and she dreamed about meeting a handsome man, getting married, and escaping her boring rural life. Maybe a knight in shining armor who could sweep her off her feet and gallop off into the sunset with her, riding a mighty steed with a flowing mane and tail. Candy was a sweet girl, with blue eyes, long blonde hair, and big breasts, and she loved to flirt with all the men, but she was also a poor peasant girl of lowly station. She rarely got to meet any eligible men, isolated as she was in the rural countryside, so she wasn’t anticipating any serious marriage offers anytime soon. She was also exceedingly dimwitted and clumsy, traits that made her undesirable to the families of available suitors. 

Her vegetables sold faster than she expected, so by midday most of her stock was gone. As she collected her things and her pouch full of coins from the sales, she felt the ground beneath her feet shake like an earthquake, accompanied by shouts and screams. She looked up to see what was causing the commotion, only to behold three colossal silhouettes on the horizon, flanked by the sun and stretching hundreds of feet into the sky. Her breath hitched in her throat at the monstrous sight. She couldn’t see their faces, only the sun on their backs, glinting off their weapons and chainmail. As their immense shadows engulfed the buildings around her, Candy was overcome with terror and fled like a mouse into the nearest entryway to hide, a tent that was set up in the market square near her stall. 

Her heart pounded hard as she trembled in the darkness of the tent. Candy had, of course, heard the ghastly stories. Giant soldiers striding over the land, stomping on houses, destroying farmland, snatching up people with impunity. She was spooked by the tales, but had never encountered a giant herself up close, for real. She had only seen them from a distance and felt the tremors in the earth of their footsteps. She huddled in her indoor hiding place, too afraid to peek out as the rumbling steps waxed larger and closer. 

“Come sit with me, child,” the voice of an ancient woman croaked from deeper within the dimly lit tent. Candy turned to face a hunched figure dressed in a midnight blue cloak embroidered with silver stars. She hesitantly walked over and sat down across the table from the old woman. There was a sizable spherical object on the table, concealed by a cloth. Upon closer inspection, she could just make out the woman’s face under the hood of her cloak, layered with heavy wrinkles. Her eyes were misty with cataracts, to the point where Candy wondered if she was blind. 

Candy shivered as the giant feet clomped past, rattling the entire space. A few candles toppled off a nearby shelf. “No need to fear, child,” the old woman assured her. “The giants are not here to cause harm.” She tilted her head slightly, her cloudy eyes staring directly at Candy yet seeming to pierce straight through her. “I believe fortune has brought you here to me today.” 

“Fortune?” Candy repeated, still flustered by the vibrations. 

“Yes, fortune. I’m a fortune teller, darling. For a few measly coins, I will read your fortune. Usually I charge a higher price, but I sense you are special.” 

“Wow, me? Special? But I’m just a peasant girl.” With her simple mind, Candy couldn’t possibly comprehend that she was being flattered for money. “O-okay.” She fished out a few coins from her pouch and gave them to the fortune teller, who greedily snapped them up with gleaming eyes. 

“Excellent! Let’s begin!” the old woman proclaimed, tossing off the cloth on the table. Candy was amazed to behold a magical crystal ball, glowing brightly with flickering stars in the darkness. Swirls of pale fog glittering with an otherworldly light revolved below the slick glass surface among the sparkles. The fortune teller hovered her gnarled hands over the glass and muttered an indistinguishable incantation. Candy watched with wonder as the tendrils of fog swam faster and the stars luminesced even brighter, until they coalesced into a solid image. The fortune teller’s cataracts reflected the image in her eyes, along with the swirling magic dust. 

“W-what is this?” Candy gasped with astonishment. She saw herself in the glass, yet she was different. She wore strange, foreign clothes, that seemed too short and skimpy for her voluptuous figure. She was running back and forth and pressing huge buttons on some gigantic device. Candy didn’t understand the image. 

“This is you,” the woman explained, “but from a different reality.”  

“A different reality?” Candy parroted back, bewildered. 

“Yes. You see, the threads of fate pass through us all, like beads on a necklace, connecting us to different, inaccessible versions of ourselves from other realities. We are inextricably tied to our other selves, fated to follow similar paths.” She waved her hand over the crystal ball, and the image changed. Candy was stunned to see her alternate self sitting in a giant hand. A handsome giant face came into view, dwarfing her entire being. 

“Oh no, a giant!” Candy cried. She was shocked to see the giant give her a tender kiss, and her other self blushing. “Wait… no…” 

“This is the man you’re fated to fall in love with,” the fortune teller said matter-of-factly. 

“What?! No! That can’t be possible. A giant?” Candy exclaimed incredulously. 

“Yes. A giant,” the woman confirmed. “In multiple realities, as you can see.” She tapped her fingers on the translucent crystal, and the image morphed again, into a more familiar version of Candy, yet still slightly off. She was climbing a vine or something high into the sky. The same comely giant man appeared again, but in a different outfit. He held the other Candy, kissed her, and placed her on his chest.  

“This can’t be real,” Candy uttered flatly. She was dumbfounded. There was no way she could ever even meet a giant, much less fall in love with one, as dashing as the man in the crystal appeared. Her heart sank as she felt her hopes slipping away from her. It was simply impossible. She would never find her dream man. She’d probably end up an old maid, or be married off by her parents for higher social status to some distant stranger who didn’t care about her, and only wanted her for her looks or body. She felt like crying. 

The image shifted again, and Candy saw a different giant in the crystal. He was an older man, perhaps in his 50s, with silvery hair and pale blue eyes. He would be handsome, if not for the lascivious leer on his features that made Candy’s skin crawl. He, too, was holding her alternate self in his hands, but the other Candy looked panicked this time. She was desperately trying to escape as the giant toyed with her in his fingers, licking his lips with avaricious anticipation. Candy was repulsed and a little alarmed by the disturbing scene playing out before her. 

“This giant... if you find him, you must avoid him at all costs,” the fortune teller said. “Although, you may be unable to escape your destiny either way. I can only wish you luck in your endeavors.” Candy nodded as she fixated on the lecherous old man behind the glass, tormenting the tiny human—the other Candy—in his beastly hands. Her stomach did a flip as he pinched her between his fingers and gave her a sloppy, sensual lick, slobbering all over her with his fat tongue. 

“I’ll... keep that in mind,” she mumbled, averting her eyes from the odious sight. The window into other worlds faded until the ethereal light was extinguished. The fortune teller replaced the cloth over the crystal ball and thanked Candy for coming in. Candy left, covering her eyes as the natural sunlight momentarily blinded her after being in the dim tent. She trudged out of the human city back towards her home, deep in thought. 

She could hardly believe her own eyes, with what she had seen. None of it seemed like it could be real, or even possible. And if it was, how was she supposed to meet the man she was fated to be with, her true love? She didn’t know any giants, and she wasn’t planning on introducing herself to one anytime soon. The whole concept was ludicrous. She dismissed it from her mind as melancholy seeped into her core. She would never find love. 

While Candy was following the dirt path back home to the farm, Leon, Martin, and Joey were leaving the castle and treading back to the border between the kingdoms. Joey was simmering with anger, struggling to hold back his true feelings. Finally, when they reached the outskirts of the city and he knew there were fewer ears to overhear his speech, he couldn’t contain himself any longer. 

“THIS is why we came? To—to enslave humans for the king?” he spat. “What we’re doing—it’s horribly repulsive and unethical! How are you two complicit in this? I respected and looked up to you! This is unforgivable!” Leon wilted as he absorbed Joey’s scathing criticisms. 

“Joey, keep your voice down,” Sir Maneater rebuked sharply. “It’s not as simple as it seems.” Leon averted his eyes to the side and scrutinized the scenery, unable to look either man in the face with his unbearable burden of shame. 

“Well, how then? Please, explain so that I can understand,” Joey said in a more subdued tone. He listened attentively to his mentor. 

“We are servants to the king, enacting his will, whether we agree with it or not. As a knight, I have taken an oath to serve,” Martin explained. “And when you become a knight, Joey, you shall do the same.” 

“If this is what it means to be a knight, then I quit,” Joey proclaimed. 

“Please, Joey, I’m not finished.” The knight shook his head. “If not us, then somebody else would do his bidding, and nothing would change. In exchange for our loyalty, we have influence at court. Leon, as an advisor, has access to the king’s ear, an unparalleled privilege. Even if the king does not listen to everything he says, he will at least consider his advice and temper his decisions accordingly. Why do you think he hasn’t outright conquered Minimaterra, and still allows the humans limited autonomy?” 

“It’s the best I can do,” Leon mumbled sadly. 

“As for me, I provide fencing lessons to Crown Prince Ronny. Do you not see the value in such a position, to be able to shape the future ruler of the kingdom? If we rejected the commands of the king, not only would we lose our influence, but also our heads. King Richard is not known for his clemency.” 

As Martin expounded to Joey his reasoning, he became so engrossed in the conversation that he neglected to watch where he was stepping. As fate would have it, the giants were heading straight for Candy, easily overtaking her comparatively miniscule strides. Candy, deep in her own cognitive machinations, noticed too late the seismic rumbles of the earth beneath her feet and the booming voices. She looked back to see several pairs of gigantic boots rapidly stomping towards her, threatening to crush her. The giants, with their unfathomably long strides, crossed huge swathes of land in seconds. 

Candy, in a panic, turned to run and ended up tripping on a pebble that caught her toe. Her pouch spilled open, scattering her valuable coins all over the dirt. Her moment of indecision, on whether to scoop up the coins or get back to her feet and sprint, cost her valuable time. The giants progressed to her position much faster than she foresaw. A vast boot slammed down inches from her, knocking her down in a cloud of dust, and an involuntary piercing shriek escaped her lips. The giant stopped. 

Candy froze out of instinct, terror rocketing through her nerves. She could sense the presence of the gigantic men looming over her as their forms blocked out the sun, draping her in shadow. Time stopped as her heart hammered in her chest. The silence felt as if it stretched into eternity with the tension. The dust settled around her, and she held in a cough. She couldn’t see them with her face turned down, but she could feel the weight of their eyes pressing her into the dirt like solid lead, to the point where her lungs wouldn’t function under the heavy burden. 

“Oh, sorry, little human. I didn’t see you there. Are you alright?” a bass voice reverberated through the air from far above. Candy was too petrified to answer, or even move. She stayed facedown in the middle of the pathway. 

When she didn’t respond, Sir Maneater, the giant who had nearly trampled her, grew concerned. “Oh no, I didn’t hurt the poor thing, did I?” he verbalized as he crouched down over her. Candy heard his enormous boots shuffling in the earth around her and felt the pressure of the air shifting as he lowered himself closer to her level. She didn’t dare turn her head to glance up, or even breathe, stubbornly keeping her face hidden. 

To her horror, a set of fingers thicker than tree trunks wrapped around her and lifted her up from the ground. She desperately wanted to scream, but she was paralyzed as she watched the ground plummet away before her eyes, too far for her to jump. She was trapped in this huge man’s hand, helpless to do anything if he desired to harm her. Yet, she couldn’t help but notice how gentle his touch was, how careful he was trying to be with the fragile being in his grasp. With a single finger on his free hand, he carefully rolled Candy into his palm, so she was lying on her back. She could feel the rough ridges of his skin on hers, and the mounds of callouses on her back, as his fingers towered above her, each one taller and thicker than her entire being. Her heart was racing so fast, she felt ill. 

“Hey there, are you okay?” he asked again, softly. He brought his head down close to examine her. Candy experienced a jolt through her body as she stared wide-eyed up at his massive face. She recognized him. He was the very same giant whom she had seen in the crystal ball, in various forms. The features were unmistakable: the sculpted jawline, peppered over with stubble; the dark, thick eyebrows; the large, masculine nose; the short, dark hair sweeping across his forehead; the stormy gray eyes. Yet, to see those characteristics brought to life, blown up to an impossible size, so striking and so close, was… breathtaking. Mesmerizing. Candy was overwhelmed, almost wondering if she was dreaming, yet the physical sensations of his all-encompassing warmth, the gentleness of his touch, the soft cushion of his palm supporting her miniscule body, the feeling of his breath washing over her, was all too real. 

His brow furrowed slightly when she still didn’t answer, and just gaped up at him in stupefied awe. He touched her in the side with his finger, as gently as possible, in an attempt to get some sort of reaction out of her. He was relieved to see she was breathing, and he could feel her tiny heart thrumming against the pad of his finger. She seemed to be unharmed, just afraid—an understandable response. He let out a sigh of relief that he didn’t accidentally crush her under his boot.  

As his exhalation tousled her hair, he saw her face turn red as a cherry with a hot blush. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, as he suddenly became self-conscious about just how close he was to her. Yet, he couldn’t seem to pull himself away, as his eyes drank in all the fascinating little details of her form that he wouldn’t otherwise be able to see. She was like a tiny doll, with her lustrous golden hair, her cornflower blue eyes, and her perfect little figure, including a buxom chest. However, unlike a doll, she was vibrant and full of life. Her little limbs tickled his palm with every subtle shift, her eyes sparkled like sapphires, and her vitals pulsed against his skin. He was himself awestruck as he felt pink creep across his own cheeks, mirroring her blush. 

“Sir Maneater, is the human alright?” Joey asked, snapping him out of his reverie. 

“Y-yes, I believe so,” the knight answered, not tearing his eyes away from her. Candy managed a small nod to indicate she wasn’t hurt. Reluctantly, Martin forced himself to lower his hand to the ground, so she could go back to her natural habitat. She slid down his fingers, returning her feet to solid ground, and looked up at him, keeping her hands on the tip of his finger, as if begging for him not to go. He lingered before slowly retracting his hand and standing up to his full height.  

Though only a moment passed, the two felt as if they were frozen in time, gazing at each other. Their hearts had connected, stitched together by a golden thread of fate. As Leon and Joey turned to leave, Martin did as well, glancing back at the tiny woman who stood in place and continued to gape up at him, spellbound. He kept looking over his shoulder even as she morphed into nothing more than a speck on the horizon, then disappeared from view. 

Chapter 4

[fionajames]

me and the devil

a/n: hey guys! you can blame @transmascanakin for this angst. i think. lyrics in this are from the song Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin, as usual, I recommend listening to it whilst reading!!!! anyways please send requests!!!!! im begging you, literally! please!

And I said hello Satan

Anakin walked through the Senate building quickly, a smile on his face. He’d visited Padme beforehand, not passing up the opportunity to see his beloved wife.

He shrugged his shoulders back as he entered the Chancellor’s office, greeting his father-figure with a smile. The white haired man offered him a smile in return, a smile that was laced with evil so sickening it went unnoticed. 

It was sickeningly sweet, like poisoned candy. Anakin had never realised that the threads connecting him and Palpatine were not friendship and instead villainy.

He sat down to talk to the man, asking him why he’d been called with a worried look. Palpatine laughed and innocently asked if a man couldn’t want to see a friend. Anakin smiled, unaware of the candy his mind was being fed.

I believe it is time to go

Anakin stayed there for a while, talking happily with his trusted Chancellor. Every sentence exchanged was another string sewed to Anakin’s wrists, another string for the puppeteer to pull on. 

For now, the strings were limp, but given the time were right, the Chancellor would pull the strings tight and control the boy, just like he had always planned.

Anakin eventually left, feeling better than he had upon arriving, but that was his mind talking. His mind, controlled by tainted candy.

Palpatine watched the door close with a smirk, absentmindedly counting the thousands of strings connected to the boy. They were tied to his fingers, Anakin at his every mercy.

Me and the devil walkin’ side by side

Anakin walked fast, making his way back to the Temple quickly.

He met Ahsoka in one of the training dojos, her two lightsabers sizzling with green. Anakin quickly activated his own weapon, standing with it in two hands in front of him. 

Another time, the very same Togruta - although older - stood with her white sabres, none of the playfulness on her face. In front of her stood a monster more machine than man, a red lightsaber held in front of him.

The girl rushed to attack first, their lightsabers clashing with energy. Suddenly, it was the training room again as the apprentice dodged a slash from her Master and retaliated.

They were blue and green, later white and red. They were match for match, flickering with youth and playfulness one moment and the next, engulfed in passion. Passion, for different things, but passion nonetheless.

Me and the devil walking side by side

After Anakin trained with Ahsoka, Obi-Wan met him to train as well. They stood opposite each other, both in the same stance with their lightsaber held in front of them, two hands on the hilts.

Anakin struck first and just like that, Obi-Wan was holding his lightsaber up against a red one. The monster approached quickly, aiming fast and strong slashes at the older man. 

A moment later and Anakin was back with his blue sabre and grin, the fight no longer fierce and heated and now playful.

They traded opposing blows, blue against blue. They were one of the same, two sides of a coin, two birds of a feather. They were so different yet so similar.

The fight inevitably ended the same, a man stood in guilt and shock, whether it be a blue or red sabre in his hands. Either way, he extinguished the glow and moved away, triumph flooding him as his mind ate another poisoned piece of candy.

a/n: hope you enjoyed, send requests please!!!!!!!!!

taglist: @techs-goggles9902, @skellymom

[rebornologist]

this just in—Belphegor sensory seeking and Fran sensory avoidance. No one asked for this, but these thoughts spawned in my head randomly so I will pretend the reborn gods just injected it into my psyche.

Belphegor, Fran, Mammon + sensory experiences ✧

♡ Bel fiddles with things a lot. He'll run his fingers across the blade of the knife, swinging it around and feeling the weight of it, dragging the cold steel against the fabric of his clothing, his skin, and even his tongue. He often ends up with small incisions on his fingers because of how he works with his knives and wires. Though, one cannot deny that he has mastered his craft.

He picks at the loose threads at the frayed edges of his old shirts. He likes the jingle of belt chains and the clink of metal against metal.

I can practically picture him smacking his gum, blowing bubbles with it, and twirling his hair absentmindedly as he sits bored in a meeting. He likes food with some chew to it, such as gummy candies, and also the raw richness of sashimi and the feeling of flesh being gnashed between his teeth.

He prefers cold drinks, the way sprinkles crunch between his teeth, fizzy cream sodas, and the frothy parts of a milkshake. He chews up straws like no one else.

୨୧ ⁺˳₊

♡ Fran doesn't like the feeling of his hair being blown around and whipping into his face very much, and the large hats he wears usually helps with that. He has much less to worry about feeling uncomfortable things on his face and head when it's (literally) covered up. On the days when he isn't wearing a hat, he'll put his hair up more often than not just to keep it off his neck. He loooves his homeostasis.

During the summer, he'll get annoyed really easily if he feels too hot, so he often hangs around in a tank top. The feeling of too much fabric against his skin when he's warm makes alarms just go off in his head, and his only saving grace growing up was the cold creek that he had near his home. He would dip his fingers into the freezing waters for the cooling and numbing effect to calm him down.

୨୧ ⁺˳₊

lil bonus ♡ Mammon's favourite thing to fiddle with is money of course, flipping it back and forth in their hands, smoothing out the bills and sorting coins into neat piles. They especially love crisp, new bills. They're the annoying person at the bank asking specifically for new bills.

They also like squishing things in their hands, anything soft and moldable in texture. They never do free labour, but can be convinced to help with fresh gnocchi prep.

[violettduchess]

"Aere Perennius" 🌟

A/N: I have long admired @ana-thedaydreamer and her beautiful artwork. I am so excited to finally be able to share what we have been working on together! Ana, you are a talent beyond measure and I was overjoyed at the chance to collaborate with you, especially on something honoring our favorite vamp 💜Thank you for your hard work, your time, and your support.

"Aere Perennius" is Latin for, "More lasting than bronze"

Leonardo - Holiday Fluff

Word Count: 1221

---🌟---

There are many things to love about the holiday season, but one tradition that never fails to brighten my spirit like a string of fairy lights in the dark are the Christmas markets. The booths are a feast for the eyes, endless degrees of craftsmanship on display in the form of bright, homemade candles, intricate wooden toys and puzzles, beautiful stained glass decorations, knitted wonders of all shapes and sizes. The smell of mulled wine and hot chocolate mixes with the scent of candied almonds, roasted meat, and gingerbread. Even the crowds are a part of it, the voices calling for small children to stay close, the greetings called across people’s heads to one another, the couples cuddling close together, warm and snug under the twinkling lights.

This is where I am right now, tucked up against Leonardo’s side as I observe the crowds from a cozy corner of the market, right next to the stand that claims it has the best mulled wine in all of Paris (with a recipe straight from Germany, I note with a wry grin). One long arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me close. The other lifts his mug of wine to his lips as he people-watches with me. The woman who runs the stand watches us both, bright-eyed, offering to refill our mugs the moment they are empty. Starting right from the first empty mug, she was so insistent with her benevolent pouring, I decided to keep holding mine close as if there were still something inside but Leonardo….he has been taking her up on her offers, tossing coins whose number grows more and more generous with every refill. 

He’s nearly got a handful of them now when I realize I've been so lost in watching the bustle of the market that I haven’t been keeping track of how long we've been standing there. And how many refills he’s had. It’s too hard to see his face clearly in the shadowy corner we're standing in but there is a laxness to his body, a looseness in his stance that catches my attention. 

Perhaps it's time to get a move on.

“It’s getting late,” I say as I gently extract the empty mug from his hand and set it down on the wooden counter. 

He looks somewhat startled at having to say goodbye what feels to him like so soon but I tug on his arm, leading him away. “Thank you Madame, it was delicious!” he calls back towards the stand. The woman behind the counter looks as sad as he does, waving goodbye despondently, sad little Christmas dishrag in her hand. I steer him through the crowd, toward the end of the market. He is hailed by so many people who know and admire him: the watchmaker lifts a mug of beer in salutation, the music teacher calls his name with a vibrant “Yoo hoo!”, the bookstore owner nods respectfully. He is such a part of the fabric of this community, the brilliant golden thread that runs through it, brightening everything.

The lights and sounds and smells of the market give way to a dark winter sky littered with bright stars and the cool calm of night time. Arm in arm, we walk. His strides are slower than usual, his eyes bright, cheeks tinged pink with wine. We take a turn, strolling down one of the main streets with displays in the windows. When we reach the toy store, he suddenly stops.

“Cara mia….wait a moment…” He stands in front of the window where tiny lights illuminate the various toys: a shiny train set with a big black engine, the porcelain dolls with their curls and big round eyes, tin soldiers marching in a row. But what has his attention is the model hot air balloon hanging from a string, floating above the other toys. He raises one hand, pressing it against the cool glass. “Stupendo,” he sighs, almost longingly. I smile softly as I place a gloved hand on his lower back. It is well-documented how fascinated Leonardo Da Vinci has always been with the idea of man and flight. Notebooks full of his theoretical drawings of various contraptions and machines can be found in museums all over the world.

“It happens, you know. America, 1903. They invent a flying machine that becomes the basis for air travel.” My voice is as soft as the glow of the lights through the window, my eyes on his face as he stares at the toy balloon. 

He doesn’t answer. Instead he pulls his far-away gaze from the shop window and turns his full attention to me. 

A lock of hair falls across his forehead, his cheeks are still tinged pink. He looks young, boyish. Almost vulnerable. The mask of the cool, eternal vampire sloughed off with every sip and now all I see in the warm light is a man whose expression is filled to the brim with tenderness. He reaches out, his soft leather glove brushing the skin of my cheek.

“Who needs to dream of the sky,” he murmurs in a voice as soft as the silver starlight overhead, “when I can look at you and see the face of heaven?”

It seems the wine, the starlight, the remembrance of dreams has brought out the poet in the man I love. His words fill my heart, lifting it like heat does a hot air balloon. Now my cheeks are flushed and it has nothing to do with any drink. 

I drop my gaze, a sudden shyness overwhelming me until he catches my chin between his fingers, tilting my face back up. I thought the lights in the window or the stars in the sky were luminous. They pale in comparison to the radiance of his golden eyes.

“C’mere,” he whispers, his free arm pulling me toward him, holding my chin as he lowers his mouth to mine. I can taste the echoing flavors of the mulled wine, the cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves as well as the faintest whisper of smoke from his cigarillos. Here in his arms, there is only the present. His dreams in the past, the uncertainty of the future fade with every movement of his lips, every sigh, every touch. If I have learned anything from loving this man, it is the need to live in the right here, right now. Even this moment, an embrace under a dazzling winter sky on an empty Parisian street will end. And somewhere in the future, there will be airplanes. And rockets. And the eternal vampire will experience it all. 

Without me.

But I believe it is moments like this one, as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and return his kiss with all the love in the world, that will capture a hallowed place in his eternity and light his heart when shadows dare creep near.

The kiss comes to an end, yet he does not move away. Maybe he’s dizzy with wine and needs to be still for a moment. Maybe he does not want to lose the closeness we share. Either way, he doesn’t step back but instead presses his forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“I love you.”

I breathe out, a hand stroking the back of his neck. 

“I love you too, Leonardo. Always.”

-----

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @neoqueen-sailorvirgo @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

[ladytitanium]

Silly Bands were hot when I was in school. I did not have any because my family was very poor, but the rich and popular kids (always seemed to be a lot of overlap, for some reason) had so many slung around their forearms that they looked like multicolored archery bracers. Inches of animal-shaped rubber bands meant you'd made it in the social hierarchy. I begged my dad for a quarter at the Walmart after he'd been fighting quietly with my mother over finances in the checkout line. There was a vending machine with plastic capsules full of Silly Bands. I could finally enter the hallowed ranks of Cool Kids, if I could just get one capsule, but he just shook his head and held my hand tighter as we headed for the parking lot.

I'd devised a scheme on my way home, tuning out the argument that had erupted into a full shouting match as soon as the trunk closed behind the paltry Walmart haul. I would find a way to get my hands on some Silly Bands-- intact ones, not the snapped single-thread corpses of neon creatures that littered the middle school hallways. I was going to perform a great heist.

It turned out to be so much easier than I expected. Stealing at home was a waiting game. Dad at work, mom sleeping off a migraine or medication side effects-- that was prime time for stealing into the grimy kitchen and shaking out precise amounts of candy from last Halloween's bucket in a precise and (I thought) untraceable pattern. The couch cushions or discarded work pants left on the floor could sometimes contain coins, which I usually saved for soft-serve cones from McDonalds when the weather was unbearable in an un-air-conditioned Midwest July. But, I figured, if I left a quarter in the place of the Silly Bands I stole, I was basically surreptitiously paying for what I'd taken, which made it morally justifiable.

The heist went off without a hitch. An unattended and unzipped pencil bag, a sweaty quarter dropped into it, a set of three Silly Bands tucked away in my bag. I waited days to display them so that the crime could be discovered and forgotten without suspicion falling on me. Finally, I displayed my new social-status-raising accessory.

A boy pinned me to the locker and snapped all three off of my wrist the next day after school. His friend would have helped, but was too disgusted by my existence to touch me even violently, he claimed. The red lines faded from my skin by the time I got home. Nothing could gain me the status I hoped for. I was simply too strange to gain entry into those coveted upper echelons.

I'm not going to say stealing is wrong categorically. I am not even claiming that it's never done me any good. It's a helpful skill sometimes, to be able to move undetected and take what you need. I am, however, certain that some lessons must be learned the hard way. No amount of lecturing can dampen the thrill of Getting Away With Something, until natural consequences do the work for you.

[usagimen]

Dragon Age has returned, thus, so will this verse.

Sayuri was born on the outskirts of Val Royeaux, she was raised by her father Minato who comes from a minor house of artisans specializing in a particular style of threading founded in Orlais. She quickly adapted a particular skill in singing && dance, enough to be a part of traditional festivals when she was 10 years of age in certain theater productions. From there, Sayuri learned quickly with her wit, charm, along with natural ability to act && sing - she could easily pull her way to the top, thus gaining her family a better social standing.

As a contender of the Grand Game, she sought to eliminate political opponents swiftly. At first, it started off harmlessly with other children from different houses, lies && common deceptions whereas in her late teens, she was already gaining patrons that supplied a lavish lifestyle for sabotage of their opponents. With her short stature, large eyes, and round cheeks it was easy to squirm information out of others hardly did she need to lift a hand. Preferably, Minato wished for her to pursue life in University though her desire to assure her family’s safety, wealth, along with overall well being drove her.

Enter her early 20’s, she is famed for the notion of being one if not the best assassins that money can buy. Notoriously difficult as she is deemed hard to swallow, but, a woman who can get the job done regardless, her decadent style && nature for dramatics drove her to secure high clientele in Orlesian society ranging from nobles, knights, even to members of Winter Palace. 

Fashion forward, she is obsessed with the current trends of Val Royeaux && never without a mask. Even if it is a simple lace veil, she refuses to show her facial features, as customary for an Orlesian; the visage they adorn is their true self. Underneath is a gaping scar she obtained from a scuffle with another bard, ultimately winning, though without being maimed in the process. During Dragon Age Inquisition she arrives at Skyhold adorning a mask that is meant to mimic ‘no face’ the only portion that is painted is the lips, bright red && glossy. Throughout the progression of the story it will change, by the time of the Winter Palace, Sayuri adorns that of the sun && is recognized in her homeland as the Siren due to her haunting voice. 

If one romances Sayuri or reaches a high affiliation with her, they will come to recognize a few things. She is a strong believer in Andraste && pious, adhering to her faith though not blinded by the cruelty. There is always lilac on her clothing or makeup, even her nails are painted in the same hue. Her signature scent is candied roses, a bit too strong && expensive, it can be sickening but makes sense from her cultural upbringing. She’s a wine snob while bringing bottles of fine spirits to the card game during Inquisition. Loves archery, it’s her passion but firmly believes elven archers are the best, she is fascinated by their technique. 

Once more, if romanced or befriended, there is a point where she will reveal the entirety of her features. Sunkissed with a thousand freckles, her scar && large green eyes, the magnitude of her warmth && how she sought to bring station to her loved ones despite the grief she has caused. She is a proud woman who holds her faith as hope but believes the Inquisitor is the dawning of a new era, thus, she would willingly abandon all she knew of the chantry solely for them. 

Amongst the elite && nobility, she has a reputation of outdrinking them, thus she is forbidden to be given spirits, wines, or beer of any kind at upscale parties - it’s a rather salacious rumor she proves to be true.

Acts as a diplomat of Val Royeaux procuring service, coin, along with political sway during the days of the Inquisition. She will not sway the decision to side in the war but remind the party along with the inquisitor that plenty are dying are innocent, try to find a solution before she does.

[derpwave]

i played cplegacy yesterday and i realised that SO many people don't know the BEST way to farm coins.

OKKK so basically, what you wanna do is go to the coffee shop>bean counter, BUT... before you press play, you wanna click the little thread of the bag that the penguin is holding, in the bottom left corner.

once you pull the thread, a ton of jellybeans should spill out. after that, you should click on the pile of the jellybeans and it will change the menu to the candy version of bean counters.

i'm pretty sure there is a glitch on cplegacy where the text does not display on the buttons where 'play', etc. would usually be, so just click the top button, and it'll take you into the game: jellybean counters.

there is a tutorial every single time you enter, which is pretty helpful if you've never played it before since this version is SIGNIFICANTLY harder than the default coffee beans version!!!

however, ITS SO WORTH IT!!!! trust me, i can pick up at least 1,000 coins per play, if you reach the final stage and unload all of its bags, which takes no more than 10 minutes.

soo yeah, i bet so many of you already knew about this, but if you didn't then you should totally check it out!

(p.s. i'm not sure if this applies to other club penguin alternatives, but i know for certain it works on cplegacy, and i have found that it doesn't on club penguin journey).

[unsleepingtales]

The penultimate episode of burrow’s end! Here we go!!

Hi little guys!!

Oh noooo

Shoutout to the dome art fr

OH that’s so real Rashawn. Sometimes the character voice is not there when you think it is and you need to say your activation phrases.

The little fist bump :)

Erika’s outfit is sick

MeatWolf! Merch! When!

Ooo

THEY LEVELED UP TO TEN?????

So Thorn is now level 5 cleric and level 5 ranger. Fascinating

Just stress demolished a sleeve of jaffa cakes in under ten minutes. This is fine.

Yeah there’s a lot of humans in the world I’m sorry

Hazmat suit lore lmao

😏 humans ey

JESUS Brennan

I love the intent and thought that goes into all of these descriptions.

Okay Tula has ALSO taken cleric levels. Level 3 life domain cleric.

Everyone starts bleeding out of their ears.

This is such bad things 😭 no it’s good ✋😭 I hate this

We’re all good at the same amount!

What coin babe

Thorn’s lightning bolt is looking way more hazard/electricity/warning than natural thunderstorm this time

“It all has to be done exactly right” has never gone badly for anyone ever.

Bennet!

That’s not a great way to make your dreams come true I think

🔵 leash 🔵

🔵 fascist 🔵

Ooooh Viola level 3 fighter!

Oh damn okay

It’s EMBROIDERED

It has her NAME ON IT

I’m fine this is fine

Love the law enforcement disdain <3

WHAT

Okay I’m glad Brennan’s on board with that lol

Ava cleric levels??? Ava Grave Domain cleric????

Ahahahaha okay so Lila is back to being an arcane trickster rogue but she is ALSO a wizard

Ava actually seeking information!

Oooh the actual strawberry candies!! Those are so good I haven’t had one in ages

Didn’t Tula heal him??

He’s allergic to pet dander 🥲

This really supports the headcanon I saw that Meredith and Lukas were Bennett’s family before Ava asked if he was single and the Tula/Bennett thread started

Some incredible insight from Ava there

PANTS

(i panicked)

Pants yeah! Let’s roll!

I am really craving those strawberry candies now lmao

That’s actually very coherent

WHAT ARE YOUR SKILLS

Okay actually going to sleep right when you lay down is a skill. I would love to be able to do that.

Jasper/Thorn constantly being horrified by the children is delightful

Ooh okay that’s a brilliant use of a d100 actually. I might steal that.

Damn

What a reference Brennan

Nest-iest/NAstiest

They booby trapped the door

BARDIC?

Oh lovely just some exposed live wires now

Transcripts?

Personal logs????

Wenabocker is hot I’ve said it before I’ll say it again

Creeeeepyyyyy

21,730 stoats total is a lot. 400 dying in one week is also a lot.

Okay so resource allocation is Way more dangerous than advertised.

Who is Phoebe??

Love long lasting effects of combat!!

Hester is such a good name

Aaaa the illustration for them creeps me out so much

Hester and Phoebe were siblings ok

I’m definitely gonna need to rewatch this lore drop tomorrow

I am so curious about the naming convention

IS WENABOCKER’S BODY IN THE CLOSET RN

This is horrifying!

Fascinated by the implication that prolonged exposure to radiation causes gender shit lmaooo

Ok so there’s not a human corpse in the closet. That’s good.

Is anyone gonna read stoat pope’s journal?

Ok thank you

That’s creepy! This is fucking creepy!

Ha ha ha ha ha how fine and normal and regular

Okay so it’s not gender it’s religion and politics?

She has fireball now? Sick

Motherfucking hell indeed Izzy

They respect the badge without any context or knowledge of the person wearing it hmmmmmm

God the only phrase in my mind is she’s spreading the gospel. Is that fucked up.

Let us celebrate nuance!

Oh noooo

I need to go back and check because I thought the human stuff on the dm screen might be new I didn’t remember it being there before but also maybe I just didn’t notice it? Or maybe the screen actually changed.

Ok my wifi has just cut out for the second time in an hour so I think that’s my sign to go to sleep and finish this tomorrow :)

Ok I’m back I’m awake Henry Kissinger is dead it’s gonna be a good day

Oooh the urge to metagame

AHAHAHAAA

Awww her best friend

Ooh what’s he planning

Snacks!

All of last bast as favored terrain!! That’s so cool!

Oh rangers are cool. They always have been but rangers are cool.

OH OK

(Players lamenting another low Siobhan roll)

Everyone is celebrating Lukas’ nat20 and Brennan just looks so done 😭

The sound effect of the falling stoats aaaa

The sitcom moment

Y’all remember the eeeeeeeeeeee that Murph kept making during neverafter? That’s the noise I keep making

Another hallway?

Oh no I just remembered that the alarms go off at some point in this episode

Oh ok it’s a different exit

The crunch is time

You’re gonna cast magic on it before you’ve talked to it??

Just full astral projection out of the body

The framing I’m gone I’m dead

Oh god

Oh boy

WHAT

BABE WHAT

‘Going’ would imply that there’s a road back 😭

Yeah ofc she’s terrified oh my god

I love her

Oh she’s got asthma she’s just like me fr

Keep asking about wenabocker!

When did she say she didn’t have kids??

HES ALIVE???

Pre-read hear!

Ooh she got a you can certainly try

Ayo??

Oh my god

Oh good god

Oddly enough this is the chillest I've felt about an episode ending in a while lmao

So the alarms going off was a trailer edit and not part of the episode. ok.

I hope this goes ok.

[mitsubinyuri]

Alright I'm just going ahead with the tattoo girl OC idea. She doesn't have any on her face and she just wears a huge coat everywhere.

Her name is Oboro, and she's half Taiwanese (because of course she is lol) and this design isn't necessarily finalized yet. She was inspired by Rookie Miku lol

Anyway basically her stand is that she can remove the tattoos from her body and make them into real objects (or living things, as long as they're not too complex) as well as more abstract things like a puff of smoke or the pentatonic scale which she has the notes for tattooed onto her. She can scale them to be up to two times the size they are on her body or as small as she wants them to be. The items can be interacted with and used by anyone but they disappear and return to her body if she leaves the range, is incapacitated/asleep, or otherwise deactivates her stand.

She has over 50 tattoos (list of some of them are under the cut if you're interested)

Various coins adding up to 300 yen

a checkered handkerchief

a compass

a burner phone

3 butterflies

a pocketwatch

a pair of scissors

a knife

3 fish

Various bills adding up to 40,000 yen

a fake ID

a white dove

a puff of smoke

a 12 pack of cigarettes

an ash tray

a lighter

three pieces of hard candy

a tennis ball

the pentatonic scale

a flashlight

four glowing stars that can hover in the air and cast a small amount of light

purple lipstick

a hand mirror

handcuffs

a needle and thread

tweezers

[solocien]

i can’t sleep and don’t want to bother my friends anymore so i’m just going to ramble into the abyss

so fun fact about me: i dilligently collect coins

i’ve been collecting coins since i was a kid and keep them all in a wooden box that has the word “COIN” on the front of it. it’s not something i often tell people, and not because i think it’s embarrassing, but because its pretty mundane comparatively

like, when someone thinks of me, i highly doubt the first thing that comes to mind is that i have a wooden box full of loose coins

but regardless, i am immensely proud of my coin collection. i often think about how, if i was faced with a situation where i had to give up all of my belongings, i would grieve the most over my coin collection. because there is so much substance and wonder inside this little box in my little room, and its wonder that isnt shared by anyone else in my family

just a few days ago, i was with some family assisting with a move, and a family member found some coins and set them aside for me. i was gazing at them in my hands (really close to my face because im blind as a bat even with glasses) and was told that i was “very strange”

and yeah, maybe i am strange. maybe i am an oddity of a 22 year old easily marveled by a piece of round metal. but i don’t care, because i have a 2 pound wooden box in my room filled with metal that is precious to me

and by now you might be wondering “just what kind of coins do you even have?” that is an amazing question, my love. i have so many strange coins and each one tells a unique story. each one fills me with amazement and images of the life it might have lived before ending up in my possession

some of the coins i picked up off the street because they were extra shiny. some coins i kept because they got so corroded that you can’t even make out what it is anymore

a penny that was flattened by a local train, one of many that my cousins and i laid out on the tracks and ran as the train approached in fear that one of the pennies would shoot out from under the wheels. none of them did, and as the train passed and the passengers gazed at us through the windows, we excitedly retrieved our scorching hot, flattened pennies and ran to show our parents. those cousins i havent seen in many, many years now, but i still have that penny, and the vivid memory of that day

i have a coin commemorating the 100th anniversary of Sears, a company that is barely holding on by a thread anymore, but one that my father fondly remembers getting monthly catalogues for as a child in the 60s

pennies run through gimmicky machine presses at amusement parks, ones that i would beg my parents to let me put my pennies through, chosing to hold onto the physical memory of the trip instead of a piece of candy or stuffed toy

my all-time favorites of my collection, however, are the coins i have from all over the world

i have pennies and quarters from Canada, easily mixed up with American currency at small tourist attractions or in vending machines and laundromats, especially where i am in New England

but i also have coins from across the oceans and thousands of miles south of me towards Central and South America. Austria, Spain, Japan, Germany, Russia, Ireland, England, Panama, Coasta Rica, Aruba, France, Sweden, Poland, Mexico to name a few… all from completely different times and cultures

The 1942 German reichsmark… what kind of stories could it tell through its caked on grime? perhaps it was left in a car, or accidentally stepped on, or given from one child to another

or the Panaman centesimo balboa from 1968. perhaps it was once carried in a student’s pocket, or exchanged for some food

what about the 1892 Swedish öre? maybe it was once used to attend a sports club, or saved in a jar for something special

these are just some of the coins in my collection that render me speechless in awe, even the coins from my own country and state, as plain and simple as they might seem, hold so much inherent sentimental value. the decades, and sometimes even centuries, that these coins have lived through, the events they must have seen and hands they must have touched. call coins disgusting all you want, but these coins are my treasures. they’re my look into the vast world around me that i’ve yet to really explore myself

someday soon i will be able to travel across the globe to places i’ve only dreamed about. someday i’ll be able to afford to leave my tiny subrural town in this tiny state and fly across oceans and experience new adventures and find even more coins to tell me stories of people just like me living lives as different and yet as similar to my own

these coins are a bridge to amazing things, and i truly do love each and every one of them with my whole heart

now is the time where i would apologize to my friends for being annoying, so i’ll just apologize to the void. sorry for rambling and good night <3