#Ice soup canceled... For now

[marciliedonato]

I thought they sent smth like a receipt when they give u the money so my goofy ass literally got paid and didn't notice lmaoooo

[thedickcavettshow]

my job is so weather-dependent because the bugs are only around when it's dry out and its annoying as hell because on days when its raining hard my boss just cancels work which I mean I do appreciate a random day off and all but well. I need money. I can't make my rent if I'm not getting paid for my full hours...

[httpiastri]

drivers as the type of boyfriends to…

f1 masterlist || f2/f3 masterlist || blurb masterlist

a/n: to celebrate f2 race week <333 guys we made it! we survived 284947 weeks without f2!!! hope you enjoy 💓

…wash your hair for you

you're either tired from a bunch of long days at work, or you've been sick for a while now, and you just cannot find the energy to properly wash your hair. don't you worry – your perfect boyfriend is here to save the day! telling you to just sit back against the tub, lean your head against the edge and relax, and he'll do the rest. you still have to instruct him about which products to use, but he listens carefully and makes sure to do everything exactly as you say. except for the fact that he adds some extra scalp massages, since he's very aware of how much you love it when he plays with your hair.

paul aron, marcus armstrong, clement novalak

…help you with your makeup and skincare after a night out

it's been a long night at some motorsports gala, and although he had a lovely time and loves these kinds of events, there's nothing he'd rather do than just jump into bed and cuddle his dearest. especially when you clearly feel the same way, having fallen asleep on his shoulder in the taxi on the way to his apartment. but after carrying you inside and placing you down gently on the bed, he realizes – you've still got your makeup on. he knows how important it is for you to be careful about your skincare, how much you complain about breakouts and such if you don't remove your makeup before bed, so he knows he has to help you. he knows how to use the makeup wipes, and he rubs your skin so gently as to not wake you up, but for the rest of the products… he kind of has to freestyle. some cleansing toner, some kind of serum; he really tries to rack his brain to remember everything you've told him – but he's a little too drunk to do it perfectly. however, it's the thought and effort that matters.

pepe marti, jak crawford, arthur leclerc, alex albon

…learn every little detail about you

he may seem carefree or like he's too chill to care, but in reality, there's no one as attentive as him. he knows precisely what you need for every day of your period; when you need a heating pad, when you need chocolate and ice cream, when you need extra cuddles and caring, when you need the chores taken care of, etc. he knows how you want to be treated after a long day at work/school, he knows your schedule inside and out, and he knows what you want for your birthday or christmas way before you realize it yourself (he figures it out because he knows you so well). he knows your twenty coffee orders – the morning coffee, the pre-work order, the friday special, and so on – and he knows how happy it makes you when he orders coffee for you in surprise, so he never forgets to do just that. he knows how to soothe your worries, ease your anxiety, calm you down. and he knows exactly how to make you the happiest you've ever been – and that's his goal for every day he spends on this planet.

oscar piastri, jack doohan, dennis hauger

…fall so easily for your jokes and pranks (only because he cares so much about you)

this boy is the most gullible person ever; he falls for everything you try to pull on him. try to joke that you're upset that he spends a lot of time with a female coworker? he won't leave your side for the next week, always holding you close and pressing kisses to your cheek whenever she's around so you know who it is he loves. pretend like you're sick so he'll cancel his plans with his friends? he will stay home, cook you his mom's special soup, buy you all of the sweets in the world, and then stick by your side for the rest of the night. pretend like you forgot his birthday and ignore him on it so you can throw him a surprise party with all of his friends and family? he gets heartbroken, thinks he's done something terrible and just wants to make up with you (and forgets about his own birthday, just wanting to reconcile with you). he will do anything you trick him into, and will react like everything is a huge deal, just because he loves you too much (and thinks you would never lie to him – "they love me too much to trick me", he assumes).

lando norris, franco colapinto, luke browning

…learn everything about your hair so he can help out

no matter your hair type, he's learning everything there is to know about it. if it's naturally straight, he learns how to make heatless curls so you don't have to hurt your neck doing them on yourself. if it's more wavy, he knows how to bring out the natural waves in them and how to make it look extra good – or tone down the waves if that's what you want. and if it's curly, he knows just what products you should use and when, and he doesn't mind even the slightest when you ask him to help out. he learns to brain your hair, dye it, style it; you often find him watching youtube tutorials on how to do certain things, or he comes out of nowhere to give you tips on things he just happened to read online. all just to make you feel comfortable and bring a little weight off your shoulders, because he understands how exhausting it can be for you to have to tend to your hair every single day.

jak crawford, ollie bearman, liam lawson

...encourage all your passions and obsessions

every one of your obscure hobbies and hyperfixations, he too automatically loves too. doesn't matter if it's about collecting vinyl records, crocheting little animals, cosplaying – he's all in. he helps you look for supplies, listens when you ramble, and just helps out in any way he can (or you'll let him). it gets to a point where he too gets really interested in it, no matter what it's about. when he sees a certain thing connected to your passion at the paddock or when out with friends, he instantly stops and gets so happy – before he realizes that it's your obsession, not his. he can't help but to squeal a little on the inside nonetheless.

franco colapinto, marcus armstrong

...be the best listener ever

this guy loves to listen – especially if you're the one who's talking. it doesn't matter what time it is, how tired he is, or what it's about; he's all ears. if you're upset, whether a frustrating situation at work/school, a deep existential crisis or a nonsensical tangent about a fictional character, he will be there to listen. he sits next to you on the couch, makes you some tea, cuddles up real close under a blanket and listens with genuine interest. not only is he a great listener, but he also gives real good advice if that's what you need. but if you just need to vent, he's the perfect place, too.

pepe marti, oscar piastri

…dance with you in the living room for no reason at all

he may not be much of a dancer, but when a song he loves (or he knows you love) comes on, he grabs your hand without a second thought. it doesn't matter if he's clumsy, if he can't find the rhythm or if you were both busy with something prior to this – his only goal is to make you laugh and feel loved. goofy routines to some up-tempo pop hit, or a slow sway to a romantic ballad; the living room floor is your very own dance floor. and even if you don't particularly enjoy dancing by yourself, you will learn to love it with him, since every spin and twirl is a way for him to communicate just how much he adores you.

clement novalak, daniel ricciardo, charles leclerc

...turn everything into a competition

brushing your teeth? he will need to find out who can finish faster. cooking dinner? he must chop the vegetables quicker and more perfectly than you. folding laundry? he'll be done first (but probably mess it up a bit). (texting each other when he's away racing? he must be the last one to say goodnight every night, and he insists that he loves you more than you love him, that's just the way it is.) it isn't only to make the mundane tasks more fun – it's also because he really wants to see you laugh, to see your eyes light up with joy at the way he makes a fool of himself while trying to take a super quick shower. he definitely lets you win sometimes, but only to see how happy you look (even though he adores the pout you put on when you lose).

paul aron, arthur leclerc, lando norris

…want to be a part of your family so badly

oh, there's nothing he wants more than to be loved and accepted by your family. it's his biggest wish. he wants to be like an older brother to your younger siblings, always playing around with them during the day but also making sure to be the responsible one and help out at night, tucking them in and reading them bedtime stories. with your parents, he does his best to always be completely respectful and proper – though he does find it a bit of a relief when he finally reaches that stage when he and them get comfortable and close. he adores the way your aunts and uncles treat him just like anyone else at family parties, and he's obsessed with the sound of your grandparents telling him what a "sweet and perfect young gentleman" he is. all of this just because he believes that if he one day is going to start a family with you, he needs to first be a part of the one you already have.

jack doohan, ollie bearman, luke browning

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 1: Love is letting someone take care of you @starryeyedjanai

Steve was excited, it was Valentine's Day, his first Valentine's Day with Eddie. They'd been dating for a few months and Steve had been planning the day all week. He had plans to take them to their favourite diner a couple towns over where they'd gone on their first date, stargazing and coming back to Steve's little apartment downtown for some sweet loving.

He'd been so excited, until he woke up feeling a bit dizzy. But he didn't want the day ruined so got ready quickly for his shift with Robin. The dull pounding in his head only got worse with every rude customer but knowing in a few hours he'd be with Eddie kept him going.

Finally, his shift was over and after dropping Robin off he sped home to get ready. He had gotten dressed quickly and decided he could just rest his eyes for a few minutes to force the oncoming migraine away.

"Stevie? Sweetheart, you here?"

Steve opened his eyes groggily, his head was pounding and outside was now much darker than it had been only moments ago.

"Fuck, I fell asleep." He murmured but it came out more as a whine. The bedroom door creaked open and Steve squinted at the harsh light.

"Oh baby, what's wrong?" Eddie said softly closing the door giving Steve some relief.

"Head." Steve replied pitifully. Eddie was dressed in a black button down and his jeans didn't even have holes in them, their plans coming back to Steve.

"We were supposed to be going out tonight," he pouted as Eddie thread his fingers through his sweaty hair soothingly.

"Mmm yeah but there's something more important I've got to do."

Steve felt a pang in his chest, had Eddie just come over to cancel their date.

"First, I've got to reheat some of Mrs Henderson's chicken soup and get my baby an ice pack, then I think we can finish the last few chapters of the Hobbit what do you think?"

"But it's Valentine's Day."

"Yeah and I can't think of anything more romantic than making sure you're nice and cozy, sunshine."

Later, when his head was clear, he'd insist on giving Eddie a makeup date, but for now, cuddled into Eddie's side, he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do.

[zegrasdrysdale]

Could you possibly write something with Jack where the reader is having an insecure moment because she read some comments on her recent post and Jack comforts her and reassures that she’s the only girl for him and how beautiful he is, and maybe he makes a little insta post about her

[ don’t know what for ] j. hughes

paring : Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary : after reading some of the comments on her most recent insta post, Jack’s girl gets a little insecure. he reminds her just how beautiful she is

warning(s) : insecure!reader, allusions to a past eating disorder

author’s note : if y’all understand the title then we are automatically best friends (bc 1d 🫶🏼)

༺═──────────────═༻

She frowns as her comments are once again flooded with comments how she looks. It's always a comment about the color of her hair or that it looks like she needs to "eat a burger". As if she didn't stop eating completely when she was a teenager because she was getting comments about how she looked overweight when she was healthy.

Sometimes there's even a dig at the fact that she has blue eyes.

She knows there's a stereotype around hockey players dating or marrying women that have blonde hair and blue eyes, but she can't control the color of either. Sure, it's the type of some players but Jack told her over and over again at the beginning of their relationship that he liked her for her personality.

That doesn't mean that little voice in her head tells her that he's with her because of her hair and eyes. She's aware he has a type, and that type does match the stereotype.

Instead of getting up and going out like she had planned, she doesn't move from her bed. She cancels all plans that she had with her friends and cancels dinner with Jack that night to hide from the public.

The last thing that she needs is more pictures of her to be taken that night and more comments to roll in about the way she looks.

from: hughesy ♡ - 10:03 am wdym you don't feel good ? can i bring you soup ? i can give you back rubs if you don't want soup (ik i'm not a great cook). snacks ? soda ? ice cream ?

to: hughesy ♡ - 10:05 am i'm not hungry. i just wanted to let you know about dinner

from: hughesy ♡ - 10:19 am i'm outside your apartment. open up

Despite saying that she doesn't feel good and doesn't want to see anyone, Jack is on the other side of the door when she opens it in her hoodie with the hood up to hide her hair. He holds up flowers, a plastic bag that's probably full of candy, and a can of soup with a big smile.

"Baby, you look like you've been crying," he states when she opens the door. "Are you sure it's more than you not feeling well?"

She moves to the side so Jack can walk into her apartment. "If I tell you, you'll think it's stupid," she mumbles as she closes the door behind him and follows him further into the apartment.

Jack puts the goodies on the kitchen island and turns to his girlfriend with a frown. "Hey, you can tell me and I promise I won't think it's stupid," he assures her. "What's really going on?"

Her bottom lip wobbles as she says, "I hate being blonde and I hate having blue eyes. I feel like you're only with me because of it. I feel like if I dyed my hair brown and got brown contacts then you'd leave me. I feel too skinny and I feel too fat at the same time. I don't want to go out today and probably get my picture taken every two seconds because I don't feel pretty. I don't want to be seen eating because I'll get told I need to stop again. I don't want to be seen not eating because then I'll be told I need to put on weight. It's confusing and I hate the way I look right now."

A weight comes off her shoulders when she confesses how she really feels to Jack. The tears begin though and sobs wrack her entire body.

His frown just deepens at her confession. Jack crosses the room in three long strides to envelope her in a hug. He cradles her head like he always does when she's upset. She buries her face into his healthy shoulder and wraps her arms around his torso.

"You're so allowed to have days like this," Jack tells her. "But you need to stay out of your comment section, my love. They don't know you like I do and only see you for your hair and eyes. They don't know the you that I fell in love with. I love you no matter what and that will never change. You could dye your hair magenta and I'd still love you and think you were beautiful."

She shakes her head and looks up at him. "You don't mean that," she says.

Jack pushes the hood off her head and runs his fingers through her locks. "I mean that with my entire heart, baby," he assures her. "I think you're beautiful on your most insecure days. I think you light up the room when you walk in when you think you'd dim it. I love you when you doubt it. You're it for me. Blonde hair or not. Blue eyes or not."

"I don't believe you," she whispers.

It hurts her heart to say it but it's true at the moment. She doesn't believe Jack when he says that she's it for him. She's heard those words before and they turned out not to me true.

He runs his thumbs over her cheekbones to dry her tears and replies, "You don't have to. Not right now. Just know that I find you incredibly beautiful for the both of us." He pulls her back into a hug. "I'd love you if you shaved your head tomorrow too and that's a fact."

She bites back a smile and shakes her head. "I'm not going to go bald or something, Jack," she tells him.

"Just saying that I'd love you no matter what," he assures her. She pulls her head back to look up at him. "Hairless or not. I'd even take you to get colored contacts if that's what you really wanted."

"I know," she sighs as she buries her face back into his good shoulder. "It just sucks that no matter what I do, I still have moments like this."

Jack presses kisses to the top of her head and she wraps her arms around his torso. "You're allowed, baby," he tells her. "Just don't shut me out when you have moments like these because I have so many compliments I could give you any time you need me to. We can eat in tonight, have a movie night too. We'll order since we both know that I can't cook."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Stay out of my kitchen, Hughes," she says. "I don't need you burning down my apartment."

He smiles at her. "I'm not planning on it," he laughs. "Your apartment is safe from me. What do you want to do today?"

"Cuddle and watch movies," she replies. "That's it. That's all I want to do today."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Jack says. He cups her jaw and presses a quick, soft kiss to her lips. "My pretty girl."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

jackhughes

liked by yourusername, lhughes_06, and 128,782 others

jackhughes you’re turning heads when you walk through the door 🫶🏼🤍

view all 3,892 comments

lhughes_06 a one direction reference ? didn’t know you were a fan

jackhughes i’ve been converted into a 1d fan

fan1 she’s so pretty

fan2 oh my goshhh jack can you fight ?

yourusername my love 🫶🏼

jackhughes my pretty girl 🤍

yourusername i love youuu

jackhughes love you so much more

_quinnhughes gross

fan3 someone’s jealous

nicohischier okay jack

dawson1417 what a good bf you are

fan4 aw

hater1 ofc he’s dating a blonde

jackhughes her hair color is not the reason she’s my girlfriend. she’d look beautiful bald too

yourusername JACK ????

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

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taglist : @dasiysthings @axaslee @ithinkimokeei @equallyshaw @dancerbailey3 @goldihocksrocks @love4lando @stony1386 @mangoluver @prettyinsatiable @ivy-34 @bunbunbl0gs @aaliyah40606-blog @naughty-box @memandi

[sturnsmadl]

bf!chris with a sick!gf headcannons

bf!chris who makes u a care basket everytime ur sick.

"its a stuffed cow"

"aww..."

bf!chris who gives u the tightest cuddles while admiring u.

"ur so pretty baby..."

bf!chris who always joins u in a warmth bath.

"this is nice."

"why are u in here.."

bf!chris who never lets u walk and carries u everywhere.

"im going to the bathroom."

"so am i now."

bf!chris who makes u soup for dinner.

bf!chris who loves rubbing ur stomach while u nap.

bf!chris who calls the doctor for u.

"i dont need a doctor."

"shh..rest."

bf!chris who cancels all his plans to stay with u.

bf!chris who watches ur favourite movies with u.

"what so shes just never gone outside?"

"have u never watched tangled?"

bf!chris who helps u get dressed to go to the doctors.

"this is stupid. i can put socks on."

"other foot."

bf!chris who gives u his hoodie because he knows u love them.

bf!chris calls ur work to tell them u wont be going in.

bf!chris who brings u ice cream when u get too hot.

"we have vanilla or strawberry."

"i just asked u to turn the fan on chris."

bf!chris who rubs ur back while u throw up.

"good girl..thats it."

hiiii! idk how to feel about this but yk

if u have any requests or just random questions my inbox is open!

taglist! @bellaonthelow @muchloveforhacker @moonk1ss3d @sturnclouds @christophersgf @ellizzyy @fratbrochrisgf @phoenix062 @pixxiies @conspiracy-ash @blahbel668 @monroesturnns @gwennybenny

[fbfh]

Had to take this to the professional 🫡

We need more dad tony stark content (literally anything you got)

Literally starving

Thank you 😌

thank you for giving me more excuses to talk about this. Tony is such a good fucking dad in general, but he's especially great when you get sick. if you're in new york, he probably notices cause you're not up as early as usual. idk where this came from, but I can hear him clear as day walking into your room and smoothing your hair to wake you up, saying

"Hey pumpkin, sun's out." you only grunt in response, but it's not your usual sassy I don't wanna wake up grunt. It sounds softer, like you actually can't get up yet.

"You feeling okay?" before you can answer, he's totally on it. "jarvis, run a vital scan."

He rolls you over onto your back so he can look at you. you look... pale. you don't have the usual vibrance to your skin, it's gray and faded. you look like if you weren't lying down, you'd pass out. Your eyes are puffy and watery, your lips are chapped. You're not yourself. While Jarvis runs a diagnostic scan on your vitals, Tony also gets to work. he carefully sticks a microneedling patch on your arm to check your blood - something Strange helped him whip up, among many other ways to monitor your health without all that clunky invasive hospital equipment - as Jarvis gives him the low down.

"Elevated body temperature of 101.3 degrees fahrenheit, swelling of the sinuses, elevated white blood count..." Jarvis rambles on and on while describing your simptoms, only interrupted by an agressive coughing fit.

"And a rather nasty productive cough."

You look up at him and try not to get teary, you know crying will just make you feel more dehydrated and achy.

"Dad... I don't feel good..."

He looks down at you so warmly, and with so much love.

"I know, kid."

He stands up, determined to do everything he can to kick this cold in record time.

"Alright, your schedule for the week is cleared." He cuts you off as you object. "Ah-bup-bup-bup. I don't want to hear it. You are officially on bedrest until further notice. Jarvis, order out for some of that soup we like, some cough drops, and popsicles."

He looks down at you.

"You want ice cream? What am I saying, of course you want ice cream. Jarvis, throw in a few pints of Stark raving hazelnuts and bunny tracks."

He grabs the remote for your tv, putting on your favorite movie and has dum-e wheel you in a box of tissues. He grabs some vaseline and cold medicine, along with a fresh cold water and your favorite flavor of sports drink.

"Now. I want you to lay back, I want you to stay cool, and I want you to get some rest. And you're a Stark, so staying cool should be no problem." He gives you a kiss on the forehead, then stands up to move all his work to stuff he can do at home, and tell Pepper to cancel or reschedule the rest so he can spend the rest of the day watching movies and tv shows with you between naps. You can hear him muttering to himself as he calls Steven over to come check on you. If you weren't so tired, you'd find it funny that the only person your dad trusts to be your family doctor is also a wizard.

"Can stop aliens from invading earth, I can make an arc reactor that can fit in the palm of my hand, how have we not cracked this cold and flu season thing yet?" he mutters, making a mental note to discuss it with the rest of the Avengers at the next team meeting. you drift off to sleep feeling a lot better than you did when you woke up, and thinking about debrief folders titled Avengers v. Rhinovirus.

[soongyeopsal]

hi bambi this is zeta <3

is it okay to write smth about wonwoo taking care of his gf bcs their holiday plans were thrown out of the window due to her catching a cold? just overall fluff and comfort :((

okay that's all bye ilysm💖

▸ Pairing: Wonwoo x F!reader

▸ Rating / Genre / AU: 13+ / fluff / established relationship

If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: none

▸ Word Count: 605

▸ A/N: Zeta darling I'm SO sorry I couldn't get this done before the end of the year. You were sick and then so was I 😭 Just pretend this was published like 2 weeks ago pls. @shuadotcom - beta for life, etc etc ♥️

Wonwoo stops in your bedroom doorway, bowl in hand, to survey you. Or rather, to survey the lump in the center of the bed that’s covered by your duvet. “Sweetheart, lunch.” He sighs when the only response is the quiet noise of the television. “Come on, you have to eat something.”

Something between a muffled groan and growl fills the room and then the lump moves. The top of your head slowly peeks out from under the duvet and rests on the pillow at the top of the bed. Wonwoo smiles to himself as he watches your exposed eyebrows furrow before you drag the fabric back up to envelop yourself once more. 

You hear Wonwoo sigh, then the gentle clink of earthenware being set on your nightstand before long fingers reach into your comforter and peel it back to reveal your face. Your hair is disheveled and you’re a bit pale, but the pout that’s settled onto your features as you return his bemused stare makes his heart flip.

“Wonwoo,” you finally rasp after being exposed, “I’m dying.”

He sits gingerly on the bed next to you, planting a kiss on your forehead before replying. “You’re not dying, sweetheart. But you will if you don’t eat.”

The press of his warm lips on your forehead is soothing, but does little to assuage your disappointment about all the plans you’ve had to cancel this week. “What’s the point in eating if I can’t have the seasonal stuff I’ve been waiting all year for?” 

“What do you mean? Chicken noodle soup is seasonal.” 

“Is not,” you whine, ignoring the way he smirks down at you playfully. A little teasing and faux ignorance have always been his way of making you giggle even when you don’t want to. And now you actually do want to, but the pang of missed opportunity is still at the forefront of your mind. “We were supposed to go look at Christmas lights and go caroling and ice skating and make gingerbread houses and just… There’s so much stuff I wanted to do, but I’m stuck here.”

Wonwoo pushes his glasses up his nose and sniffles, hurt. “‘Stuck’? You hate being with me that much?”

You sigh, sitting up to look at him better. Behind the warmth in his eyes is a hint of worry. Even though you know Wonwoo’s joking, you feel a pang of guilt for making him concerned in the first place. Suddenly not-seasonal soup is more appealing. “You know that’s not it, babe. There’s just…so much that we’re missing, you know? There’s so much that I wanted to do.”

Wonwoo doesn’t miss the way you tilt your head toward the nightstand, attempting to take more whiffs of the lunch he’s prepared for you through your stuffy nose. He moves to fluff the pillows behind your back before taking the spoon in his hand to feed you. Raised eyebrows above his lenses is all it takes for your weak glower to transform into an open, waiting mouth. Even on your worst days, he’s always there to comfort you. When you accept a few spoonfuls, Wonwoo is satisfied enough to answer. “We can do plenty of stuff here, you know. Movies, hot chocolate…some more soup, maybe.”

“That’s nice in theory, but you’ll get sick too.”

“Well–” he says thoughtfully, stirring your lunch again before taking some for himself, “– now it’s guaranteed. We can be sick together. So, how about that movie date?”

For the first time in days, your smile reaches your eyes as you return the warmth that Wonwoo continues to show you again and again. “It’s a date, then.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Benevolent Sovereign of the Oasis.

Sun and shadow. Two existences, locked in a perpetual cycle, unable to be without the other.

It hurts to part ways, but reunion is that much sweeter.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

His eyes flutter open, and the instant his awareness hits, so, too, does the lightning in his veins. He throws his covers off and scrambles out of bed. His phone is in his hand in seconds, the calendar app opened.

It's just as he anticipates.

“Today’s the day!!”

Kalim's exhilarated shout stirs the entire mansion. Various hired help glance up from their tasks—private chefs in the middle of their prep work, housekeepers tending to the laundry, gardeners watering the flowers—and tut or sigh.

"There goes the young master again," they’d murmur amongst themselves. "He's so excitable."

It's not an unusual occurrence, but this time is especially special. The notice had gone out months in advance, the most skilled laborers called in from all corners of the world for the event. He had counted down the days, cancelled all his meetings.

Just for this.

Kalim breaks into a sprint down the corridor, his sandaled feet pounding the polished floors. He skids around a corner and continues his frantic pace, almost knocking over a valet. The servant stumbles, but Kalim grabs his hands and pulls him up into a spin.

"It's today, it's today!!" he squeals, earning a blank stare from the valet.

"Yes, sir. The staff are all aware. The preparations are well underway, so you needn't be concerned."

"Gahahah, everyone's already hard at work this early in the morning!" Kalim’s boisterous laugh bounces off the high ceilings. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh no, please leave the work to us... Y-Young master? Young master, where are you going?!"

"I'm going to check up on some things, don't mind me!!" Kalim calls back. He has already taken off, leaving the valet stunned.

"... Well, he's certainly become more proactive."

Kalim sticks his head into the dining room. The table is large enough to host his entire family plus several guests, but today it is set only for two. The seats are intimately situated across from one another, their best plates, silverware, and cloth napkins set out to welcome the diners.

The centerpiece, an ice sculpture of a viper with its hood flared out, sparkles in the morning sunlight. It would be a puddle by now, had it not been enchanted to never melt.

Servants are busy setting up a banquet: crisp vegetables, steamed fish, crusted breads, seasoned meats. His stomach tosses uncomfortably when he passes the seven kinds of curry laid out in a row--but he reassures himself with the reminder that his guest is sure to love them.

The kitchen didn't skim on the beverage selection either. There are sparkling juices, rich soups, spiced coffee, and black tea, accompanied by a large pot of white sugar with which to sweeten it. For dessert, fresh fruits (no dates!), flaky layered pastries, ice-creams, and cakes dipped in sugar syrups, topped with crushed pistachios and candied orange peels.

"Care to sample, sir?" a servant asks Kalim. They offer a trey of appetizers, each with an odd stone-colored dollop.

He obliged, popping one into his mouth. "Mmm! What's this gray stuff? It's delicious!"

"The head chef's secret recipe, young master. He thought to bring it out of his recipe cards today in honor of the celebration."

"Wow, he's really going above and beyond for this!!" Kalim glances at his staff. Now the orchestra is filing in with their instruments, and a massive roast duck on a bed of fried garlic and scallions is being laid out on the table. Another team is stringing up lanterns, and a skilled animal tamer enters, hauling a crate of colorful parrots. "Everyone is. I really appreciate it.

"... Oh, hey!" He snaps his fingers, a spark in his eyes--as though he has just come up with a great idea. "I know! Since you've been putting your all into this, I think it's only fair you get to get off work early and have a chance to relax too!"

"Erm, sir--that's very generous of you, but we aren't even done setting things up yet. The decorations especially..."

"It's fine, I've got this!" Kalim turns to the rest of the workers calls out, waving his arms. "Hey, everyone! You're free to go! Grab some nice food from the kitchen on your way out. I can handle the rest!"

The staff look confused, but not one of them protests. Some shrug and immediately exit, others anxiously wait for their peers to go before they follow. Before long, the room is cleared.

"Alright, let's do this...!"

Kalim produces his magical pen and waves it in an arc. Golden sparkles rain down, animating nearby objects.

Plates, forks, spoons, and knives march to the long table themselves. Flowers settle into crystal vases. Banners and lanterns float up, pinning themselves in place.

There we go.

"Squawk, squawk, squawk!!"

Kalim follows the cacophony to the cage of parrots left behind by the animal tamer. They're scrambling around, looking longingly at the decorations that had been raised to the ceiling.

He brightens with understanding. "Oooh, I get it! You want to get out and stretch your wings too!"

Kalim hesitates, turning the choice over in his head. "'Hmm, well... Technically, you're not supposed to be released until he gets here."

A showy spectacle--that is how Kalim envisions it. A whirlwind of flashy feathers to welcome him back. But the longer he looks at the wide, wet eyes of the parrots, the more the sadness swells in his chest.

Poor little guys, bound to a cage.

"... Okay, I've decided! You can come out and stretch your wings, I'll just need you back on the ground before the big surprise. Then you can fly all you want when he gets here."

Kalim kneels, fiddling with the lock on the cage. The door easily slides open, and--

FLAP, FLAP, FLAP!!

The entire flock rushes out, sending Kalim flying back onto his bum. He braces against the powerful beating of wings, the talons and beaks nearly scraping his skin.

A voice cuts through the noise.

"Kalim!"

Someone tackles right into him, forcing him to the ground. The world violently tilts, and suddenly Kalim is staring at a ceiling swarming with golden lights and a vaguely shaped shadow looming over him.

"I thought you had matured a little since I departed, but it looks as though you still have your moments where you're hopeless without me. I didn't think the first thing I'd do when I got back was protect you, but here we are."

He blinks rapidly. His vision slowly corrects, lines drawing together and forming a crisper image.

That face.

He recognizes it.

His old friend, dressed in sandals, khakis, and a bright yellow T-shirt embroidered with pink tropical flowers. He wears a cap that resembles a cartoon character--a dog with floppy black ears. The man had entered with suitcases, which were dropped by the door the instant he jumped to Kalim's defense.

"Jamil...!"

Kalim yanks him into a hug. His face turns, tears welling in his eyes. "Y-You came!! And you came so early...!!"

"Of course I did. I promised you I'd return home after my travels," Jamil sighs, patting his emotional friend's back. "I was planning on surprising you first, but..."

He gives the dining room and its extravagant flourishes a glance. Parrots are roosting in the banners, popping the balloons, or stealing vegetables and fruit from the flatters.

"... It looks like you've beaten me at my own game," he says tactfully.

"Yeah!" Kalim sniffs, wiping at his tears. "I... I wanted to welcome you home with a huge celebration!!"

"... Idiot. I didn't come back for any of this. Not food, not music, not pets, not decorations. There's one thing that the Scalding Sands has that no other place in Twisted Wonderland does: my best friend."

"Awww, Jamil...!" Kalim's eyes wet again. He lets out a happy sob, reburying his face in Jamil's shoulder. "It's good to have you back!!"

He sighs deeply. Despite this, Jamil still manages a smile. "It's good to be back with you, Kalim."

[lumosinlove]

Last minute decision to do @oknutzyweek2023 because FUN!! Decided to add a little twist.

So: O’Knutzy Week (Taylor’s Version)

Day One: Summer Vacation (all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing)

Two times Logan had a cold and was a BABY about it.

Harvard

There was a flood warning. The whole locker room’s phones blared to attention at once. Finn saw the coaches frowning. Someone flipped the news on. The roads were gone, frigid wind rising from the spray of cars passing through puddles that were as good as small lakes. Blurry red lights and reporters barely hanging onto their umbrellas, sleet stinging their eyes.

Finn caught Percy’s eye and could almost taste it in the wink Percy dropped him. There was no way they were making it to this game.

Max slapped him on the back, short light brown hair sticking up in every direction from his post-practice shower. “Looks like we won’t be line mates after all, Captain.”

Finn sent him a half-smile. “Hm? Oh, yeah, man. Another time.”

It wasn’t good. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t anything he was proud of, but the idea of going on a roadie without Logan had been enough to get Finn down for days. A strange ache huddled in his chest, confusing him until he remembered the sight of Logan, feverish and red-nosed in his bed. Max was great. They would have been great on a line together. He was fast and he kept bodies away from Finn. But Max wasn’t Logan.

“All right, boys, you called it,” Coach sighed, hanging up his phone. “Game’s off. Let’s all get home safe now. Keep a close eye on these roads, it’s a river out there.”

At least the guys had the good sense not to cheer, but Finn knew they were all glad for the break. Exams were coming up fast and called for late nights in the library. Finn was exhausted. The games had been hard. They’d been missing Logan on the ice more than any of them cared to admit. He filled gaps that Finn never even thought to look for.

And it wasn’t good. It wasn’t healthy. But Finn felt stretched thin, brittle and sullen, when Logan wasn’t near.

Among the rustle of guys packing up and leaving, Finn hid a small smile, shoved his earbuds in, and pressed call.

The five rings it took for Logan to answer felt like the distance laughing in Finn’s face.

“Hm,” came from the line.

“Did I wake you?” Finn asked.

“Non,” Logan rasped, but Finn could hear it in his voice. He looked down at the call-screen, brushing a thumb over Logan’s contact picture: Grinning, half rolling his eyes maybe. From one of the boys’ pre-season road trips. Finn could just see his bare shoulders, and maybe no one else knew, but Finn had memorized the way his body had looked that day. Golden and strong. Hidden curves of muscles that Finn had mapped out with his thumbs, that one time. Once.

“Finn?” Logan’s voice asked, accompanied by a harsh cough.

“Oh, sorry, hi.” Finn rubbed his eyes. “Hi, I’m here. Just calling to say game’s cancelled.”

“You’re coming home?”

Finn laughed softly. The hope in Logan’s voice was unmistakable. “You’re such a baby when you’re sick.”

“Bring me soup.” 

“I will, I will.”

Finn wished he could make Logan soup, the real kind that his dad got from the deli around the corner when he and Alex were sick. Slight crunch of carrots, soft celery, thick egg noodles, bayleaf and rosemary. He wanted Logan to be better.

Finn zipped up his backpack. “Can you get better already?”

All he got in return was a disgruntled scoff. “I’m trying.” Then, after a moment, “You miss me?”

Finn smiled. He didn’t care who saw. It was Logan’s voice in his ears and his ears alone. “You know it.”

“Yo,” Percy said when the door to OKN slammed behind them. They were all freezing, knuckles tucked under the straps of their backpacks. “You going to check on the gremlin?”

“Yeah,” Finn said. “Kitchen first though. Gotta heat up some chicken noodle.”

Percy snorted. “He knows the stairs still work the same, right?”

Finn dropped his bags and laughed. “Oh, he knows.”

He went to the cupboard and found the cans of chicken noodle he’d picked up. The sink was a mess but he scrubbed a pan clean then stood close to the hot burner while it boiled. The rain was turning to snow outside and he, honestly, couldn’t remember the last time he’d been actually warm. He held his palms over the soup, beginning to bubble, and tried to rub some of the rawness out of his knuckles. He put it in a mug, easier for Logan to hold. Silver, Percy’s dog, came in and sniffed at his ankles, whining until Finn fished a piece of carrot out with the spoon and gave it to her.

How long did this storm give him to relax? A day or two. He still had to finish his Romanticism paper. He needed that book from Kelsey in his theory class. Logan’s soup was getting cold, Logan was sick, Logan was falling behind on his reading and there was only so much Finn could do to help. Logan, maybe, would let Finn spoon up against his back again while he shivered through his fever.

When he opened Logan’s door, he was hit with—well, the only word Finn’s brain supplied was summer. Logan had the heat in his room high, blankets wrapped tight around his shoulders. He was a half-visible lump in the bed, the darkness as good as humidity.

“Jesus,” Finn said as warmth began to seep back into his fingers. “Lo?”

No reply. Finn shut the door softly, then sat on the edge of Logan’s bed, setting the soup down. He put a hand on Logan’s back.

“Got your soup, baby,” he said—and then snapped his mouth shut. He’d meant it as—no, he’d meant—He’d meant here’s your soup. You big baby. But he hadn’t—had he? Baby. I just want to take care of you, and read all of your books to you and I want you to feel better, I miss you, I don’t know how to play without you—

Slowly, Logan rolled onto his back and blinked up at him. Finn stared back and had no idea if he’d heard or not. Baby.

“Raining?” Logan asked.

“Snow,” Finn said. He tapped a fingernail on the mug, making a soft clinking sound. “Soup.”

“We have to study.” Logan groaned and turned into his pillow before pushing himself up on one elbow. His hair was a mess. Needed a wash, too. When the blankets fell down, Finn swore he felt another wave of heat roll off of Logan’s bare chest and sink into his very bones.

“Don’t worry about that now,” Finn said. “Little vacation first, maybe.”

After a moment, one green eye peaked out at him. “Vacation?”

“Feels like the Bahamas in here, that’s good enough for me.”

Logan groaned. “I feel like the Bahamas.”

“So you are feeling better.”

“Non, ugh.”

Finn laughed, but at the frown that settled between Logan’s eyebrows, he quieted. It was a small risk, but he didn’t think Logan would call him on it—He pushed Logan’s sweaty hair off of his forehead. “I know, Lo. I’m sorry.”

Logan closed his eyes. “Oh, your hand is so cold.”

“Oh, sorry.” Finn made to pull back, but Logan gripped his wrist and kept him there.

“Non. Non, it feels good.” Logan dragged Finn’s hand to his cheek and let out a breath. “Fuck.”

Finn could only watched, lips parted, as Logan pressed Finn’s hands against his own neck, his chest, his forehead and cheeks. Finn didn’t dare move on his own. He let Logan put him where he wanted.

After what felt like an hour of Finn holding his breath and trying not to enjoy this too much, Logan let him go and sat up for his mug. He made a face that was something between relieved and dissatisfied.

“This soup is terrible.” He gave a shiver and sank back down into his blankets.

“I know,” Finn said, still caught on the soft roll of the R in Logan’s mouth. His lips were red, chapped. His eyes were vividly green against his fever-bright cheeks.

“What can I do?” Finn said softly. He needed to do something.

Logan looked at him for a long moment. Finn wanted him to say get in. Pull those heated, Logan-filled blankets back for him and let Finn sink into his favorite universe. The one where they might be each other’s.

“Nothing,” Logan whispered.

Nothing. That word out of Logan’s mouth could send him any which way. What could Finn do? Nothing. Nothing is what this seemed, sometimes. But it was everything. Finn was hopelessly trying, pushing and pushing himself to keep up with Logan. To try and figure out what Logan wanted from him. What more could he do?

Logan reached out and grabbed Finn’s hand again, bringing it back to his forehead. It startled a small laugh out of Finn.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Logan said. “D’accord?”

Finn sighed, but nodded. “Okay.”

Present Day

“My poor baby,” Finn said, trying to hide his laugh as he pushed the hair off of Logan’s clammy forehead. “Poor baby boy.”

Logan just tucked his nose up against Finn’s neck and grabbed at his hand until Finn was holding him even tighter around his waist, rubbing cool fingers up and down his spine.

“You are such,” Leo said from the doorway, where he had appeared with a tray of soup and ginger beer. “a baby when you’re sick.”

“Non.”

“Yon,” Finn said. “Always have been.”

Leo set the tray down on the other side of the bed and picked up the mug. He propped himself up against the headboards and Logan, slowly, rolled over and into his arms instead. Leo wrapped his arm around Logan’s shoulders so he could still reach the spoon. “Am I feeding you, is that what’s happening?”

“Yep,” Finn said. “Looks like it.”

Leo just shook his head, but let Logan lean up for a spoonful of broth.

“Merde,” Logan swallowed, his cheek smushing back against Leo’s t-shirt. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.”

Finn met Leo’s eyes to catch his grin. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Logan accepted a few more spoonfuls before sitting up himself and taking more eager sips. His eyes flashed disgruntled. “I just want to get better.” He looked wistfully out the window. “It’s summer, we’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“Hey,” Finn held up a hand. “What more would I rather be doing on my vacation that stay holed up with you two?” 

“Same,” Leo said. “Lo, you’ll feel so much better in a few days.”

“I know but…Yeah. I know. Just ugh.” He took another long sip. “This soup is really the best thing I’ve ever had.”

Leo laughed. “I’ll get you some more.”

Finn watched Logan’s eyes follow Leo out through the doorway. He had that same feverish flush to his cheeks. Glassy green eyes, red nose.

“Remember the snow storm?” Logan asked suddenly.

Finn nodded. “Mhm.”

“Me too,” Logan said.

When they smiled at each other, it wasn’t all that sad.

“What do you need, baby?” Finn asked, rubbing a hand over his bare chest. “What can I do?”

“Be here,” Logan said. He pressed a kiss to Finn’s neck. “I need you two.” He smiled, eyes darting towards the kitchen. “Do you need anything?”

Finn shook his head, watching as Logan brought up his hand to cradle against his own cheek. “Just you two.”

After Logan fell asleep again, Finn found Leo in the kitchen, humming softly to himself. He was stirring the big pot on the stove and Finn settled his hands on his hips.

“Smells so good, Le.”

“You want some, too?” Leo asked, holding the spoon up for Finn to taste. “Need anything?”

Finn accepted it gratefully, but he turned his head and kissed the corner of Leo’s mouth. “No, nothing.” Nothing. It was the fullest word he’d ever used. “Just you humming in the kitchen.”

[creedslove]

A bit late but imagine Joel has to take the kiddos trick or treating alone because you’re sick in bed

Feel free if boy or girl or both

I imagine he wouldn’t cut the night short for the kids’ sake but that he’d constantly send you pics and text to see how you’re doing and just be anxious to be home to take care of you

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: I changed a little bit because now Halloween is gone honey ❤️

• your toddler Rosie and your stepdaughter Sarah spent the whole week nagging you and Joel to go to the amusement park that got in the city about a week before

• it was both cute and annoying as it was the only thing the girls could talk about and your baby boy Sammy was also super excited even if he didn't understand it exactly what was going on, he just giggled and cooed at his big sisters' excitement

• your household had made so many comments about it that you began feeling excited as well, and you four just decided to go on Friday evening, which Joel promised he would take it off and take his family to the park, and eventually, all the Millers were looking forward to Friday night

• that until Sammy woke up with a fever and a runny nose; which you didn't worry at first, medicating him just like the doctor had advised you to and carrying on with your tasks

• but through the day, Sammy didn't get better, quite the opposite, he cried and whined and sniffled and you felt so sorry for your baby because you didn't want him feeling ill

• until mid afternoon you noticed you sniffled a little too much, at the same time you felt shivers and suddenly, you were just as sick as Sammy was

• when the girls realized you were both sick, they immediately got anxious, at the same time they didn't want to pass up the opportunity to go, but they also worried about the two of you and decided to wait for Joel to get home and figure what to do

• when your husband Joel saw how sick you and your baby boy really were, he felt both disappointed and worried; he didn't want to cancel on the girls but he didn't want to leave you

"I know the girls are gonna be disappointed, but I'll buy some pizza and ice cream cake and put on their favorite movies, you know how much they love ice cream cake, don't ya? Anyway, we'll stay in to take care of you and Sammy and we can go some other day"

"no Joel.. take the girls, they've been waiting for it the whole week, Sammy and I will be fine, we just need a night in to rest and recover.. we'll both have some chicken soup, a warm bath and some snuggles and we'll be alright tomorrow"

• you insisted because you wanted your family to have fun, Sammy was too little to enjoy the park anyway, and even if Joel felt a little guilty and upset, he agreed, immediately cheering up at how happy Sarah and Rosie were

• you made you and your one-year-old some chicken and vegetables soup and you both cuddle on the couch, under some warm blankets and watched some quiet TV

• one part of Joel was having fun, while the other was just anxious to get home and take care of you; he worried about you both and kept texting you and sending you pictures of their evening

• Joel bought some popcorn, corn dogs and cotton candy to go; he wanted you to have them, knowing how you often loved those snacks

• he also made sure to win you a stuffed shark; he said it was for you, but in reality it was for Sammy, nonetheless, he knew the two of you would snuggle it as soon as you saw it

• when the three of them got home, he found you and Sammy asleep, his heart clenching with love as he couldn't explain how much he loved his family and you, because you were the one who gifted him it

• during the weekend, he was all the time all over you and Sammy, making sure you both were alright, and when you two were fully recovered by Sunday, he suggested going to the amusement park again

• the girls cheered so excitedly and nodded, as now you all went as a family; you had fun, snapped pictures and Joel even held Sammy so you could go on a few rides

• it ended up being such a lovely evening and it brought you so many good memories you were sure you'd relish for the rest of your life

____

[starry-hughes]

39. “You promised.”

W/ Nico hischer

star’s birthday bash

-

nico was packing for the off season. he had bought the two of you plane tickets to his home country and he was excited to bring you home finally.

he was also excited to put this year behind him and come back when it was different and better. he noticed you had yet to pack.

you loved nico, you really did. but you had only been seeing him since december and going home with him was a big step. meeting all his family was huge. it wasn’t like the stadium series game where you were able to hide off the ice because you didn’t know how to skate and you barely saw his family.

now you were just supposed to go and meet his whole family in a whole different country? it was terrifying. you tried not to think about it for weeks, you promised him you would go. you even took the three weeks off of work to go. but you had cold feet.

you weren’t living with nico but you had a drawer of stuff at his place. and he thought either you were packing those clothes or maybe bringing over your suitcase from your place.

the flight was leaving tomorrow and you were being weird. he thought maybe it was just nerves, you were a nervous flier, you could have just been scared about the flight.

he brought over soup to your apartment and used his spare key to get in. he was expecting to see you sitting there and packing but you were just sitting on the couch, no suitcase or backpack in sight. “you’re not packed yet?”

you felt horrible, like you were going to throw up. “nico can we talk a second?” you asked barely above a whisper.

“i love you, and i do want to meet your family sometime, but i just can’t go across the world to do that, i’m terrified that they are going to hate me or that something is going to go wrong and i’ll be in a different country alone.”

“you promised. you promised you’d go,” his voice cracked. “i know but—”

“my family already loves you. why don’t you want to go home with me?”

you couldn’t find an answer and that broke his heart. “i’m sorry,” you whispered. he nodded, choking back tears. “i’ll cancel your flight then. goodbye (y/n),” he went to leave.

“wait nico what does this mean for us?”

he shrugged, “guess you have three weeks to go move your stuff out of my place.”

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #125

I'm still in a lot of pain today, but it's not quite as bad as it was yesterday. It's still a little hard to breathe, but I'm managing. Hopefully whatever's going on will be over and done with in just a few more days. I've taken some ibuprofen, though, and I'm well-hydrated. So don't worry about me, okay? I'll be just fine. 💖

I made myself a tea this morning. I made a toast-and-jam tea, and as a result of that, I get to show you one of the other ice creams I got! I'll show you the pictures I took…

This tea starts out as a beautiful shade of amber that resolves into a delicious shade of red:

This is the ice cream I put into it while it was still hot:

It's got a pretty drawing of a blackberry plant on the lid:

Here is what it looks like once the lid is taken off:

From there, we can put an amount of it into the tea until it feels correct:

Then once it's all melted, we can stir it up!

...I wonder if you would have liked how this turned out. I wish I could give you a mug and see...

I did my therapy homework today. In case you don't know, a good therapist is supposed to give the person seeing them homework to do over the week. Last week, he thought to capitalize on my tendency to write, and he asked me to write a letter to my inner child. And then he asked me to tap into my inner child and write back to myself.

It's generally in my nature to go above and beyond when people ask me to do things, whenever possible. And so I ended up writing three letters instead of just two. I ended up crying a lot during the process, but I came away from the exercise with a changed outlook on a variety of things. You can read what I wrote if you want to; it'll be the post just before this one. But if you're not interested, then that's okay too! 😊

I wonder if some such activity might benefit you. I imagine if you engaged your inner child with compassion, curiosity, and gentleness, it'd probably do you a world of good. I wonder what it would be like for you if you treated your inner child, and yourself generally, in the same tender, kindhearted way you treated the people you cared about, before your fall.

…You can return to that, you know. You can return to that anytime. And you can give your kindness and gentleness to people who are better able to reciprocate. Not everyone is going to treat you like a superhuman afterthought. I promise.

Anyway, in service to a renewed sense of resolve when it comes to caring for myself, I went ahead and got myself some soup and some macaroni and cheese with some yummy steak:

...Related, I think I'm going to try to make for myself the mac-and-cheese that my mother used to make. I am the only one who can make it for myself now, and I think I owe it to myself to figure it out. I will try to make a gluten-free version of it, so that Br can eat it, too. That's easy enough to do with brown rice noodles; it's basically indistinguishable from whole wheat pasta, in terms of its flavor and texture. Maybe I'll try to do that soon. And of course, when I do, you can count on me to walk you through the process so you can do it, too.

I also made it a point to sit for a while and watch one of my favorite cartoons. This one is called The Zeta Project; it came out when I was 11, which was... 23 years ago (wow, what the fuuuuck...). It's a beautiful show about a sentient robot named Zeta who was built to be a weapon, but who is trying to lead a life of peace. The government is trying to capture and reprogram him and put him back to work as a mindless killing machine. He's accompanied by a clever, savvy, and brave young girl named Rosalie. I really hope you'll watch this one someday; Zeta is very gentle and kind, and in a lot of ways, he reminds me a lot of you.

...The show was cancelled before it finished, though. I heard that it was because more girls liked it than the producers were comfortable with, so they pulled it off the air. I really hope they finish it someday. For now, though, the ending has to be left to the imagination. Zeta is beautiful, wonderful, and kind, so I like to imagine a course of events in which he can live in peace with Rosalie and with others who care for him.

...He really does remind me so much of you. I hope you'll look at his story. I think, in particular, you might find the episode called "Remote Control" relatable. You can find it at a place called... something like Watch Cartoons Online Forever? The first part is shortened to "wco", and it ends in ".net". Maybe you can find it...

Anyway. I took a bunch of other pictures for you today. One of them was taken at home because the morning light shining through the window was really nice. And when we visited Br's house today, I saw a great big huge bird-of-prey in the sky. I also took a bunch of pictures of Br's house, and the scenery outside. I thought you might like them. So here they are:

It's hard to take a picture of a moving object in a moving vehicle, but the black speck in the sky is the bird-of-prey I saw. I've seen an unusually large number of these lately. That, and crows. I wonder if the recent solar eclipse still has them kind of thrown for a loop. Hm.

Also, shortly after I did my therapy assignment, J took me out for a walk to decompress, and there was a crow in a tree that we've never seen crows in; our development is generally quite hostile to life (which is VERY unfortunate...), and hostile to crows in particular, because people don't like them (I've never understood why that is...). But he was sitting alone in the tree, making the "I'm with you" call; check out this video, at about the 40 second mark, and you'll hear what I mean:

...I can only imagine that this poor crow must have been very confused.

Here are some pictures of Br's house.

...I seem to have some sort of fixation with taking pictures of things outside of windows today. I'm not really sure why. But it turned out nice, so maybe the "why" doesn't really matter.

Oh!! I almost forgot!! A comet passed over my house last night. It's called the "Pons-Brooks Comet", or "Comet 12P". It only shows up once every 71 years. I wanted to see it, since I won't live long enough to see it again, but it was cloudy last night in the spot where it was supposed to be, so I didn't get to take any pictures. But J went online and found a live video that was tracking its movement; I can show you a screenshot that I took:

...It's not a very good picture, I know. But maybe you'll like it anyway; I don't know how often you get to see comets. Well, maybe you get to see them a lot, since you're over at the Edge of Creation and all, so maybe it's really not all that special to you. But maybe it can be special to you that someone would take the time to show you a picture of one anyway, if you want it to be.

Hey, Sephiroth? I'm pretty tired, so I'm going to stop writing before I end up rambling. Or maybe I rambled a little already, haha...

Please treat yourself nice, okay? I feel determined to treat myself nice, too. So let's do it together, all right? Because why not?

I love you. Stay safe. You'll get another letter tomorrow; just you wait.

Your friend, Lumine

[autumnmoonsurveys]

MONDAY, JANUARY 29, 2024 9:29 AM

How long has it been since you moved out of the house you grew up in?   

About fourteen years now!

What color shirt are you wearing?   

Neon pink. I am not a big fan of pink unless it’s a mauve or dusty, but funny story about this shirt: my husband’s family was having a summer party themed as “dress for your decade” so he had an ‘80s outfit and I had this shirt as part of my ‘90s outfit tied at the front with a side ponytail, high-waisted long leopard print biker shorts, and platform multi-colored pastel Velcro strappy sandals. My husband wore a ripped up Guns N’ Roses tee with cut-off jorts, black nail polish, black Chuck Taylor Converse, and a bandana. Well, apparently he either silenced or removed himself from the group chat that had an update saying they canceled the dress-up theme. So we looked like complete weirdos. 😂

The last time you ate leftovers, what was it that you were eating?   

Spicy chicken cream cheese chili. 😋

What was the last flavor of ice cream you ate?  

Orange cream sherbet.

Do you regret anything you’ve done in the last 24 hours, and if so, what?   

Nah.

What is your favorite type of soup? 🍜   

French onion!

When was the last time you saw a beautiful sunset? 🌅   

Recently.

What is your favorite song at the moment?   

I don’t have one.

What is your favorite board that you’ve made on Pinterest?   

I don’t make boards, I just save recipes.

Do you get on Facebook or Instagram more?   

I *use* FB more.

What color is your favorite sweater?   

I don’t have a favorite.

What are three things people would never guess about you just by looking at the photos you post on social media?   

Uh…ask them!

What is one thing you have too much of?   

Clothes, I suppose.

What was the last thing you ate or drank that was blue raspberry-flavored?

No clue…maybe a gummy.

What are three of your favorite scents?   

Perfume-wise, three of my favorites are Vera Wang “Princess”, “Vacation” (the original), and Calvin Klein “Euphoria”.

What was the last flavor of tea you drank? ☕️   

Just iced sweet tea.

When was the last time you wore your hair in a fishtail braid?   

Never.

What is one annoying thing your computer does?   

I’ve never used Greg’s laptop.

What type of fruit do you eat the most?   

Bananas.

How often do you go out to eat?   

Not often.

What would your dream wedding dress look like? 👰‍♀️   

I bought my wedding dress on Amazon for $50:

Which fall flavor do you prefer: pumpkin spice or apple cinnamon?

Pumpkin spice!

What is the most annoying thing about your life right now?   

The weather, maybe.

Which holiday treat do you like better: candy corn or conversation hearts?

Candy corn.

What is your favorite apple-flavored treat?   

I don’t like artificial apple flavor at all, but I do like actual apple treats. Apple crisp is probably my favorite.

What are you counting down the days to right now, if anything?   

Nothing specific.

What was the last book you read about?   

Everyday magic. 🤍

Have you been daydreaming a lot lately about a scenario you wish would happen? 

Yeah, actually.

What are three of your favorite things about camping? ⛺️   

All of it, really. Nature, quality time, fires…

If you could choose what month to be born in, what month would you have chosen as your birth month, and why?   

I’m content.

…and what is your actual birth month?   

August.

Would you rather eat strawberries 🍓 or watermelon 🍉?

Watermelon.

Do you prefer smoothies or milkshakes? 🍹   

Smoothies.

Do you prefer hamburgers 🍔 or hot dogs 🌭?   

Cheeseburgers.

When was the last time you felt nauseous?   

Last week from random headaches.

What was the last thing you ate that made you feel nauseous?   

🤷‍♀️

Do you enjoy going to your local county fair?   

Yepper.

How far away do you live from the place where you were born?   

Half an hour.

Do you prefer zebra print or cheetah print? 

Cheetah.

[dontbestingybaby]

from Picture-Play Magazine, October 1923

The Irrepressible One

Fans are always clamoring to see more of Mabel Normand, and in that they are quite like her many acquaintances.

By Norbert Lusk

Full Transcription Below

Photo caption: She is a little figure, all vivid expression, with enormous eyes and petulant, childlike mouth.

MISS NORMAND, one hand grasping a tube of tooth paste, the other holding with a bibliophile’s tenderness a volume of Ernest Dowson, romped into the room.

Tor two hours I had waited. My patience was that of a senescent courtier used to the etiquette of dying monarchies.

Not to interview her. Not as a stranger come to beg a photograph, or a year's tuition in a college of chiropractic, or even to beseech aid for a crippled kiddie’s operation.

These benefices would, my experience told me, have been all too easily won from Mabel. The prospect of such picayune gold digging would have found me not at all trepidant.

I had come on a far, far more delicate mission—one that held me rigidly apprehensive in the plush and prisms of the hotel drawing-room, though not too unstrung to inventory the jumble of Mabel’s belongings scattered, piled and flung here and there.

How like her they all were, I mused, but not too indulgently. Deciding, you understand, to be reserved and not let her know I'd paid attention to her gewgaws. They ranged from seven grotesque dolls, limply perched on mantel and chairs, to a capsized basket of faded flowers, and a leaning tower of cigarettes in boxes, with other oddments between.

For I was there as a once-devoted friend willing, but not too eager, to consummate a reconciliation, if I may use a toplofty phrase. and resolved to be dignified at all costs and not let old-time fondness be welded anew into fettered slavery.

It was to cancel an estrangement brought about by an unanswered letter, or, something equally heartbreaking that Mabel had done.

Frankly, I don't quite remember what it was, now, though before Miss Normand scampered down the hall my grievances were precisely defined, like the perforations on a music roll, and ready to be ground out, a complete opus, at concert pitch.

Mabel is like that—she makes her wounded victim forget his wrongs in a moment and buckle on the armor of a crusader to avenge her own. She is dreadfully devastating to dignity, to judicial balance, to one’s amour propre.

That neglected letter, or whatever it was, had made me sorry for myself and skeptical of the friendly vows of all queens of the screen. I had, indeed, renounced the false sisterhood and consigned them to celluloid. When, as recorded, Mabel bounced in.

Now for the Normand witchery, sorcery, or what not. If this story is to get anywhere at all, something that passes for explanation must be submitted. The hard part of it lies in translating it by means of the printed word, lacking, in turn, the wizardry, alchemy or what not of a Rossetti, a Thomas Hardy, or a James Joyce. Mabel is deserving, honestly, of an abler etcher than I.

“I love your coat—it looks like an Airedale!’ she cried outside, before I saw her, as a means of breaking the ice after three years.

“Ernest Dowson is my favorite poet. I love him. If he weren't dead I’d make him marry me.” Mabel whirled in delivering herself of this and introduced me to the bell boy, who stood behind her, laden with books.

“This is my darling old friend who knows all my faults but loves me just the same. He’s going to be Ritzy about this when you go, because he’s got himself up in soup and fish, trying to pass for an ambassador! But I don’t care, now that he’s forgiven me—do I, Bunker Bean?”

Whereupon she resorted to her own way of stifling a reply. It is the way of an impulsive, affectionate child and, I add, to give the world hope, is not reserved for me alone. One's resistance sags under these onslaughts and I couldn’t command myself to strike an attitude of chill dignity.

Picture, if you can, Mabel as she is off the screen and you'll not ask why. A little figure all vivid expression, quick movement and rapid speech. with enormous eyes and petulant, childlike mouth. She is wise as a serpent in the ways of the world, yet at times more naive than a fictional milkmaid. Beneath it all her manipulation of people is unfailing.

Clinging to the last vestige of self-assertiveness, I reminded her that I’d waited two hours.

“You would! So would the Rock of Gibraltar! That’s why you're wonderful. But I telephoned you twice from the bookshop. Don’t tell me that maid didn’t—I’m going to fire her!” she darted to the door, then wheeled and paused. “No; if you don't mind, I won’t. She’s a wonderful packer.” Mabel softly closed the door and lowered her voice as if in a den of thieves.

“I’m going abroad—no one must know but you. I've always told you my secrets, haven’t I? Sit here near me and I'll tell you some more. You're the only person in the world who can help me.” Followed chattering exposition other plans.

They included, so far as I could adduce, nothing sub rosa. She was going to London for Chistmas, would spend the holidays in Rome (I'd not be surprised if she collected a present from the Vatican Christmas tree, if there were one) and return in a few weeks. There were some trifles to be looked after in her absence.

It was happiness, as always, to undertake them. Mabel asks little and makes one feel a minister plenipotentiary in obtaining chewing gum for her.

Our rapprochement complete, she saw no reason for settling down to stilted conversation about the weather and topics of the day. Accordingly she ran in and out of the room, presumably to confer with those wonderful packers. or leaped to answer the telephone’s insistent jangle. It was always an invitation to join a party, and I caught names as celebrated as her own in these potential hosts. But Mabel refused all, declaring, in a torrent of endearments, that her physician had ordered quiet and rest.

“Isn't it outrageous?” she wailed, wide-eyed from her desk. “I have to autograph five hundred of these ‘Suzanna’ books before I can get away. It’s slavery; yet people think we don’t do anything more

Photo caption: She is wise as a serpent in the ways of the world, yet at times more naive than a fictional milkmaid

strenuous than change our shoe trees. I’ve got writer’s cramp, as it is, and housemaid’s knee too. Tell me what to write on the flyleaf for my French teacher. I've been studying three years and don’t know a thing, but he’s a darling old peach.”

She munched her pen. Already she was inked to the wrists. Needless to relate the ready star needed no prompting.

“Don't you dare like this book more than you do me!” she scribbled, “l’otre gamine terrible—Mabel.”

Gamine! That’s the word. Mabel herself described a phase of herself, her present phase.

Luxurious, lavish, independent of any individual's favor, she is a gamine de luxe—a sort of Kiki, minus Lenore Ulric, because, despite dissimilar circumstances, Mabel’s heart is that of the child-woman of André Picard’s play. Gaining her own ends by the sheer vigor of her attack, never accepting defeat. appraising people and situations to a nicety, and over all flooding an excess of capricious high spirits.

Mabel is inimitable, undeniable, irresistible. You may put this down, if you choose, as arrant bias on the part of her toiling historian. But confront him, if you can, with the person who has withstood Mabel. Vainly he has sought this Hippolytus among studio workers—people generally without illusion—and while there are feminine stars of the dramatic persuasion who wouldn't exactly expand while Mabel watched their emotional scenes in the making, it is because her sense of burlesque would conflict with their lack of it.

Yet. while she indulges her gamine mood, there still are other moods. When finally she permitted the packing to be carried on without interference and had inscribed fly leaves galore, autographed pictures, written notes, despatched telegrams, denied herself to callers, plied me with food, “Suzanna” souvenirs and instructions—and had driven home her points with some comic imitations of people we all know—she talked uninterruptedly. Probably as a means of warding off fatigue.

“WHY is it, do you suppose, I’m not happy? People think I am. I babble because they expect just that. But. cross my heart and hope to die, I'm not Pollyanna by a long shot. There's something missing. Sometimes I think it’s because I know people too well—see through them too easily—and it makes me want to hide myself away from it all. You know I really love to be alone where I can think things over but—you answer the telephone, darling—say that Miss Normand has gone over to Staten Island to see her mother.” Fortunately this fib swept the current of Mabel’s introspection into happier channels—happier, without doubt, for her visitor, who had the sudden qualms of one who might be keeping Mabel from thinking things over.

“You remember I always used to be writing things in my book? If you promise not to make fun of me, or take down anything, I'll read to you. I’m really self conscious about my poems. I couldn’t bear to have people laugh at a comedienne’s attempt to be serious.”

And so, twisted into gnomelike angles, on the sofa, Mabel unlocked her book and read. She won’t mind mention of this because, in keeping my word not to quote. I have only recounted a fact which her fans should know.

Her verses are simple, unaffected, concrete. Each mirrors an impression. There are clear images, unclouded by wasted words, in them all. The sincerity of her intention disarms the critic (if I may masquerade as one so late in the story), and stirs and touches. Which is precisely what Mabel wished to do when she essayed her first author’s reading under a rose lampshade.

“Why in the world don’t you publish these? You’d have no trouble arranging it, and think what a surprise people would get.’

“Not for any money—at least not now. They’d only be bought out of curiosity and some one surely would laugh. I couldn’t bear to be laughed at in that way. When one understands life, or tries to, thoughts that touch very deeply should be kept mostly to one’s self... Oh, but I'd love to do an autobiography, and tell the truth, mind you, the whole truth! That's all that would excuse it.”

I predict that she will, some day, for unless all symtoms fail, what Mabel aches for is literary expression.

Certainly few busy people read more than she does or respond more readily when there is opportunity to discuss books. Of the fifty or so volumes awaiting the clutches of the packers, there was nothing obvious; no garishly jacketed best seller, but poetry, biography, criticism, history, all out of the ordinary.

In reading, however, as in her conduct. it would seem milady has her moods. She avowed affection for Ethel M. Dell—at least for one of her stories which Mabel expects to do in pictures—yet holds Leonard Merrick, economist of emotion and narration, in esteem.

“No, no; not that. Don't begin with ‘Conrad in Quest of His Youth’—that’s not a fair test of Merrick’s power,” she advised a caller who wished to become acquainted with the novelist. “Start with ‘The Man Who Understood Women.’ The rest will take care of themselves.”

She dispensed this counsel with a quiet zest that gave me a flash of the pedagogue, if you'll credit that. In line with this she assured me she was a born old maid, and expected to die one, because she spends much time happily cataloguing and rearranging her belongings.  Servants notwithstanding, Mabel says she knows exactly where to find the black-lace stockings that have been mended once, and woe betide the slave that mixes her handkerchiefs.

How, I asked myself, did the inflexible Britons receive this quaint, unconventional ex-Biograph girl? She had returned, not long since, from her first invasion of London and was now to go again, without having revisited Los Angeles. There must have been few lorgnons raised by the duchesses for Mabel to cartwheel into the midst of their unwedded young sons once more. So I asked her.

“In England people do the loveliest things for you for the love of doing them. You know what I mean? They don’t calculate their kindness. It’s an instinct, not a gesture, and it’s gracefully casual. Gosh! I adore the English for their civilization, their traditions.”

This enthusiastic blanketing she followed with details spotlighting the hospitality of lords and ladies in country houses and at hunt breakfasts. Of solitary

---

THROUGH FRIENDLY EYES

Now and then interviewers and acquaintances of Mabel Normand have written their impressions of her—many of them vivid, some of them appealing, all of them interesting. Normand is one of those rare individuals who never fails to make a deep impression on the people she meets. It is only from a person who has known her well for a number of years, however, that you can get an adequate word picture of this unusual girl. Therefore, PICTURE-PLAY is proud to present this story by Norbert Lusk—first of all because he is a clever, facile writer—but particularly because he has long known and admired her.

---

walks over moors, gathering heather—and, with no less happiness, of a police inspector who had won her heart by escorting her through Limehouse.

“You knew dear George Loane Tucker, didn’t you? Well, Sir Hall Caine wrote me a darling note—no; sweet was the word for it (I mean quaint), telling me that Mr. Tucker, when he was alive, used to write him nice things about me and asking if he could come to see me. He came and turned out to be the gentlest, darlingest pet there ever was. We understood each other—zip! like that! and later I went to his house for tea.

“I liked Barrie too, Wasn't it a shame? I mean I was bathing when he called at the Ritz and kept him waiting too long” (oh, Mabel, how like you!) “for when I came out he had gone, leaving a funny little note. It said that he had fixed the fire in the grate and hoped it would warm me. Of course I tried to make up for this later. Shaw was awfully kind too—very quizzical and clever."

She had, however, no tale of him to equal the other conquests, which gave me an opening to ask if it were true she had broken an engagement to meet Princess Mary.

“Of course not! My friends ought to know me well enough to be sure I wouldn't do that. It was to have been at a charity bazaar or something. At the last moment the thing was called off. Some bigwig engineering it was sick. Then some one thought it would be funny to say Mabel Normand had been rude. That’s how things start. Just because I’m a little—well, you know, different—people believe anything weird about me.

“I wish to heaven some philanthropist would take the time to write about me as I am. Something quite simple, natural. Not making me out a highbrow, or a stately Vere de Vere, or as a girl with no taste at all. Just as I really am—just me. Then the public wouldn't swallow nonsense when it’s printed by those who don't care because they don't know any better. . . It must be great to be a wharf rat.”

Mabel next returned from Europe in high spirits on a slow steamer, under the impress that she had booked passage on an express.

Reporters, boarding the vessel at quarantine, still surrounded her at the pier because, I surmised, she was offering entertainment—or news.

Next morning’s papers rumored her supposed marriage to an anonymous Londoner. Mabel was in tearful indignation over this wrong and, as always, spurred her sympathizers to avenge the canard. But first I probed for clews.

“I never said a thing,” she averred. “A lady on the steamer was reading my palms, saw this diamond guard and kidded me about having married secretly. I kidded her back. Who wouldn't have? Then it spread. Things always spread. I'm going to take the veil.”

She was reminded of what she previously complained of in newspaper misrepresentation and advised that she should have flatly contradicted the sociable palmist.

“Oh, you want me to be dignified. Dignity my eye! I can’t be upstage and I can't be mean when people are nice. But I’ll never even be civil to a newspaper man again.”

On the morrow this sprightly queen of contradiction was hostess to a group of news gatherers, purposely to convince them of the error of their ways. How she did it you perhaps know by now. At any rate the next edition of their journals gave space to Mabel's denial.

This, then, is the Mabel Normand adjudged the leading feminine comedian of the films. These glimpses of her away from the studios, chosen because they are typical rather than exceptional, reflect. I hope, the vigor and verve and whimsicality of her acting. It is doubtful, however, if they give an idea of her professional authority. sagacity. When she is absorbed in work it is absorption indeed. Her long experience—her facile inventiveness — fundamental sense of the comic—are all whipped into dynamic activity when she attacks a picture. Should the result disappoint, Mabel’s reaction is that of utter heartbreak. But she rebounds. Like all urgent souls she never accepts defeat.

“She seems to be working out as one of those very human characters,” she wrote of ‘The Extra Girl.’ “You know what I mean—a girl one looks at and wants to know more about as she passes by, and leaves one with a little ache that one may know her better. She has given me tremendous ambition. If others have failed perhaps it was misjudgment of one kind or another in attempting them. But this picture has had the same effect as. the faith of those who really love me. And so, from the way things look, I think those who care for me will be rather proud of their—Mabel.”

[whatsonmedia]

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